Deal with the Devil
by FreyaFallen
Summary: Tom Marvolo Riddle is a model student. He is also building an army of loyal Knights who will assist him in taking over the Wizarding World. After the chaos that was his fifth year, he is ready to set his followers on the paths that will lead him to power. However, he has recently noticed one of his classmates is hiding a secret that could impact his destiny. Cross posted on AO3
1. Chapter 1

For what felt like the millionth time this evening, Tom found himself staring down at an over-eager young woman. This particular one was a Hufflepuff— rare enough that happened— and came to just about his chin. She was pretty, if a little plump, and batted lashes framing large brown eyes as she smiled nervously.

"What you are proposing is against the rules, Miss Hornby. Surely you know that?" he said gently. Of course, the girl could hardly know rules were the last reason Tom refused her generous offer. It was one of the more forward of the night, and no doubt the reason Hornby's cheeks reddened even in the torchlit corridor. The weight of his gaze alone pushed her eyes to the floor. She fingered the pleats of her skirt, apparently at a loss. "Please get back to your dormitory before I am forced to report you. I would so dislike to see such a lovely young woman scrubbing floors or shining trophies."

Finally, after a moment of dark eyes staring into warm, the girl relented. "Well, maybe I'll see you the next Hogsmeade weekend?" she whined.

"Oh, I'm sure." His smile seemed genuine enough, and she soon stepped away, walking in the direction of the kitchens.

Tom waited until the sound of her light steps echoing through the empty corridors faded and turned to continue his rounds. There was a specific reason he was in this part of the castle, and it wouldn't do for Elyssa Hornby to find out. Her sister Olive (a Ravenclaw) was a dreadful gossip, and this would damage the reputation of some of his people. In Slytherin, a reputation was as important as family name.

He was fairly sure they'd be right around here. Not this little alcove. Perhaps… Yes. There was a slight groan behind a statue of Saint George with sword held aloft.

"You know," he drawled, "This might be why you both keep falling asleep in History. While Binns may not care, your grades certainly reflect your lack of rest."

"Shit!" The sounds of scrambling clothes and shuffling feet were followed by the appearance of two young men. Nott was flushed from their activities, steadily avoiding the gaze of his smaller companion. Avery's tie was still undone and he'd skipped a button on his shirt. They were hopeless.

"Er, hi there, Tom." Avery grinned up at him, which had the effect of making his fellow sixth-year student look about thirteen. Avery's guileless, boyish charm was an asset in dealing with those of a suspicious disposition. In fact, the boy didn't even have to try using it. He was a natural.

He shook his head at the two of them. "We have a perfectly good dorm. It's not as though Lestrange and Black would notice, especially if you put up a simple _muffliato_." One dark brow rose pointedly. "Unless, of course, the risk is part of the appeal?"

Nott's face had just returned to its normal color when it reddened again. "Aw, come off it. We get it, Tom, we get it." He grabbed a handful of Avery's shirt sleeve. "Let's get back to the dungeons, Freddie."

"Before you go, see that you are more discrete in your affairs, gentlemen," Tom said. "I can only do so much to protect you, and should you compromise yourselves for a little fun…" He left the threat unsaid, but the looks on the boys' faces said they understood. They both nodded and hurried away.

The prefect sighed to himself, idly fingering his wand. The two had yet to prove their usefulness, but at least he could be certain of their loyalty.

His two errant followers were absent from breakfast the following morning, having no doubt continued their activities in the intimacy of a four poster bed. As such, Tom decided he would sit behind the pair in the classes where they were most likely to fall asleep. This resulted in him sliding into the back row of seats in their double History session that afternoon.

Professor Binns began droning on as soon as class began despite three students still entering and a few standing beside their seats rather than in them. Tom was, of course, already prepared and began jotting notes inattentively as he kept an eye on Avery and Nott. Within minutes, the fair-haired Alfred's lashes fluttered shut and he started leaning forward in his seat. Tom jabbed the back of his neck with the tip of his quill, which resulted in a most satisfying yelp as Avery slapped where the sharp point had left a small black mark.

Tom rolled his eyes at Nott's snort of amusement, and dipped his quill in the ink jar. He was about to scribe down the names and dates of a few battles when something caught his eye.

A seat to the left of Avery was a Ravenclaw who looked to be asleep—her head hung, body slumped, pale brown hair hanging around her slack features. But her hand was scrawling furiously across her parchment, stopping every nine words to ink her quill. Whatever she was writing seemed like an exact pattern. At the end of each short segment, she would skip a line and begin again. Just over two lines and she would repeat again.

Tom leaned forward to try and make out any of the words, but her script was like ants across the off-white paper. He tapped Avery's shoulder.

"I wasn't falling asleep, Tom, swear!" hissed the boy.

So melodramatic, he thought. "Switch me seats."

"What?"

"Switch me," he said, voice dangerously low. Avery nodded and the two swapped with only Nott's puzzlement to notice them. The girl's forearm pushed the parchment forward as she skipped down to the next line, the head of the paper curling over the front edge of the desk.

Closer now, Tom could make out just the tail end of each line. If anything, what he saw raised more questions than they answered. _…eat that which He…_ and he was fairly sure the next full line ended _…Lord is born in the…_ How curious. Maybe if he was just a little closer...

As he slowly leaned toward the left, the Ravenclaw pushed the parchment up more to move down to the next line. Unfortunately for her, that was more than the paper could handle and it slid to the floor with the gentlest rustle.

The girl's quill came down onto the desk without pause and slid across the slick surface. Her forearm came down to follow and she jolted upright. Her eyes snapped open, looked to the black ink marring her skin, at the desk with its smudged ink, coming to rest on the parchment beside her feet. As her head turned, no doubt to see who had noticed her somnolent activities, Tom jotted down a few notes as casually as though his gaze hadn't been glued to her for the past few minutes.

He could just make out a crinkling as her foot slid the paper within her reach. In his periphery, he saw her lean in the opposite direction and pull the writing back onto her desk, where it stayed for the remainder of the period.

As the class ended, Tom nodded to his followers to head out before him. He slowly packed away his notes, shuffling through some items in his satchel as though they need more organizing. He waited until the girl had finished stuffing everything into her desk, halfway to the head of the room, before he stood. When she reached the door, she crumpled the single piece of parchment into a tight ball and dropped it into the waste basket before leaving.

Tom was the last student to leave. He watched the door click closed and took the parchment out of the receptacle. He had more than enough time before he was expected anywhere, so he straightened out the paper, smoothing long fingers over the wrinkles, and read.

_To Fly from Death, He gathers shades round Himself to become His Knights and eat that which He Fears Most. And Fear shall be his Signature and Death shall be his Name. A Dark Lord is born._

_To Fly from Death, He gathers shades round Himself to become His Knights…_

Fly from Death, Death as his name, Knights around him. Well, now. This was unexpected, and entirely unpleasant.

Tom carefully folded up the paper and placed it in his bag. Avery and Nott were waiting for him just outside the door, but he silenced them with a hand. He needed time to think. What did he know about the Ravenclaw?

She was a Ravenclaw and, thus, intelligent to some degree. Fairly quiet. She never seemed to standout. In fact, Tom couldn't recall anything particularly noteworthy about her. She rarely answered questions in class, had never been involved in any sordid affairs of the sort to become gossip. No, Elena Vablatsky was as ordinary as the majority of students at Hogwarts.

Except…

_It was his third year and his first Arithmancy class. Professor Abernathy was getting to know the students as he took roll. It was alphabetical, so her name was one of the very last._

_"__Ah, Vablatsky, Elena. Any relation to famed seer, Cassandra Vablatsky?" the professor asked cheerfully._

_The small girl colored and murmured, "She's my mother."_

_The wizard clapped his hands together once. "How wonderful! I assume you're in Divination, then? Can we expect any mysterious visions in class this year?"_

_"__Oh, no, professor," she said. "I'm afraid I don't have my mother's gift."_

_There was a beat of awkward silence. "Ah, if you could all turn to page ninety-four and we will get started on theory…"_

Daughter of famed seer Cassandra Vablatsky, and she'd said she didn't have the gift. She'd lied, and hidden this ability for nearly six years, and he'd been none the wiser. Who knew what visions she'd had in that time. If this was any guess, she knew dangerous things, things not even his loyal Knights were privy to. And she was walking through the corridors with all this knowledge, all these secrets that were rightfully his.

They were nearly to the Great Hall when Tom swirled around to face Avery, Nott, and Lestrange—when had Lestrange joined them? No matter—and the three stopped abruptly. "What do you know about Elena Vablatsky?"

"The Ravenclaw?" Lestrange asked. "Quiet. Pretty, if a little mousy."

"Smart enough to be in some impressive NEWT level classes," Avery added. "Good family— pureblood, the Vablatskys, but she's the end of their line."

Tom considered this. "Which families are close to the Vablatskys?" He turned again, expecting them to keep up (they did).

"My aunt— mum's older sister— was friends with Cassandra for the longest time. They had a falling out before I was born," Avery said. He fingered an earlobe indelicately, remembering. "Aunt Lisabette thought it was a shame when she found out about Cassandra's daughter— she was sure she could have secured the Vablatsky inheritance for our family if we had grown up together."

They seated themselves at their usual place in the center of the Slytherin table, Tom pouring himself water while the others began digging into their food with little regard for decorum. "And Mister Vablatasky?"

Avery had the grace to swallow before answering, thankfully. "He's Eastern European, moved here as a young man. Apparently, his family wanted to avoid some economic issues that had hit their muggle population. His name is something strange— Aurek, I think."

Tom tapped his fingertips on his goblet. This backstory was all necessary, he supposed, but nothing explained Vablatsky's lie. And it seemed as though the family was self-segregated enough to have no easy access point for information. "What about friends? Who is Miss Vablatsky close to?"

"Why the questions, Tom?" Nott was watching him, a curious glint in his brown eyes. "Are you _interested_ in her?"

A corner of his mouth twinged, though whether to smile or frown even he was not sure. "You could say that. They were close enough together and far enough from untrustworthy ears that Tom felt safe enough to add, "I have reason to suspect Miss Vablatsky may be keeping a valuable secret. The sort that could prove advantageous were we to exploit it, and possibly dangerous were it left unchecked."

Avery and Lestrange were uncertain at that, but Nott was thoughtful. "Do you want us to watch her, Tom?"

He nodded. "Be discrete about it, and subtle questioning as well." They were all Slytherins to a T and, despite Avery and Nott's behavior the previous evening, could act as such when the occasion called for it. "I particularly want to know who she is close to, more about her family, any secrets they may be hiding. And…" One hand twitched toward his pocket thoughtfully. Should he? Well, they knew better than to cross him. "Pay particular attention when she seems to be nodding off during class. Report any unusual behavior to me immediately." That should be enough to clue them in were Vablatsky to repeat today's performance.

Nott sucked in his cheeks, a habit when he was thinking of something. After a pause, he said, "How important is this? Do you want us to call in family favors if necessary?"

"If you think it will result in information that could… persuade Miss Vablatsky to be sympathetic to us, yes." There. Now all three young men knew the seriousness of the matter. If his suspicions were true, Vablatsky could threaten his future plans. No doubt she didn't have a clue what her little prophecy meant now, but someday he and his Knights would be known throughout the wizarding world, and he needed to know her silence was guaranteed.

And this prophecy was exciting; it could indicate his plans would come to fruition. _It might be nice to see what else the seer might scry._


	2. Chapter 2

It was a chilly Sunday afternoon—November 21st, to be exact—and the past few weeks had lapsed without any more crumpled papers in classrooms (at least that he or any of his minions had seen). It was easy enough to watch the girl; they shared a few classes, both of them being excellent students. However, Vablatsky had never expressed an interest in Divination, had not taken the class even as a third year. One would think, given her heritage, she would have been eager to discover if she had the Gift. _Unless she already knew by then_.

Tom sat beneath a tree near the lake on Hogwarts grounds. With his cloak and scarf, it wasn't too cool for him, especially as the day was not particularly windy. He was looking over a potions essay for Lestrange, having finished his own last week. Honestly, he was almost surprised his fellow Slytherin had finished the essay on the legality of love potions overall and Amortentia in particular before it was due. And it was decent, all said. Somewhere between Acceptable and Exceeds Expectations with minor edits; with the suggestions Tom had written neatly on the margins, it would firmly be 'E' work.

The prefect offered his assistance to all of his Knights, since it was in his best interests that they succeed. They usually only came to him when struggling, which he supposed was to be expected; however, they knew the price of failure. He did not suffer fools.

Glancing it over one last time, Tom nodded firmly to himself and rolled the scroll up. That would do nicely. Lestrange was clever enough he knew he could easily pass courses. He could skate through life on his family name, natural intelligence, and two-faced nature, and he knew it. He also knew that times were changing and theirs was perhaps the last generation of purebloods who would be able to do so. For that reason alone, Lestrange was willing to follow someone with a vision of the future that would benefit his family. Last year had proved definitively to his Knights that Tom was such a person.

He smiled to himself; it was a cold expression, a mere flexing of the lips to slightly alter their neutral position, his a little narrowed, more arrogant than anything. Yes, last year he had proved himself enterprising. The risk had been great, but the payout was absolute loyalty and surety in his abilities. Now, as a sixth year, Tom had only to grow his following and begin to secure their futures and his own.

Avery had a good friend in seventh year whom he was slowly bringing into the fold— Corvus Mulciber. The young man was a little brutish for Tom's liking, but he was of good standing and it was rumored he'd already lined up an internship at the Ministry when he graduated. At their next study session, Mulciber was going to attend under the pretense of speaking to Tom about NEWTS. And Dolohov… that particular Slytherin had watched the group warily for years, and only now was making inquiries that showed he was ready for the next step.

Speaking of, Dolohov, Nott, and Avery were headed toward him from the castle. Tom slipped the parchment into his satchel and waited for the trio, his long legs cross as the ankles as sat against the leafless tree.

"Tom!" Avery grinned, the left side of his mouth rising higher than the right. It was his expression when he was particularly pleased with himself. "We have news!"

"_I_ have news," Dolohov corrected. There was an open letter in one hand. "I was told you were interested in the family life of one Elena Vablatsky, particularly as it pertains to secrets."

Tom raised one brow, directing an unfriendly look at his two followers. Whether or not Dolohov would soon be joining his Knights, he should not have been privy to such information until Tom decided he was ready. Avery's grin became chagrined, while Nott glanced down at his feet. At least they realized their mistake.

"Don't be too hard on them, Riddle. I've known Freddie since we were little; I know all his tells," Dolohov said, settling beside the prefect. "And it so happens I have cousins in Poland who were acquainted with the Vablatskys before they moved to England. Very closely acquainted. In fact, there was talk of Aurek Vablatsky divorcing his wife and marrying my cousin Audrina."

"Divorce?" Tom murmured. Pureblood families rarely divorced. "For what cause?"

Dolohov's smile, like the rest of him, was a modest expression. "Cassandra was unable to provide him with a child… and there was talk of infidelity, from what I understand."

Tom paused to reflect before saying, "But she eventually provided him with Elena."

"It's curious," the young man said, settling down beside Tom. "According to Audrina, Aurek was all set for divorce until just five years before we started Hogwarts. And the lovely Miss Elena is notably absent from wizarding society outside of school. In fact, none of Aurek's family in Poland knew of the girl until quite recently, though those are all cousins and uncles and aunts."

Tom looked toward his Knights. Nott was thoughtful, but Avery looked about ready to burst. At the prefect's gesture, he burst out, "My aunt said Cassandra was touring around the time she'd have gotten with child, and she and her husband were estranged at the time. In fact, Antonin's cousin-"

"Audrina says Aurek was in Poland for three months during Cassandra's tour, before returning to their home here in Scotland," Dolohov finished, proffering the letter to Tom with a flourish.

He accepted, skimming through the contents. Indeed, it seemed Audrina and Aurek had many discussions about the possible divorce. Aurek was unhappy with his childless state and his wife's fame. She'd brought the Vablatsky name more renown than it had had in generations, and he disliked that his own research in new uses for adder's fork was hardly registered in society. There was even a picture of Mister Vablatsky at the home of Audrina Lis, herself and her eight sisters fanned around the fair-haired man.

"So," he said, folding the letter and handing it back to its addressee, "do we know who Miss Vablatsky's real father is?"

It was Avery's turn to add in again. "Lisabette says Cassandra spent quite a lot of time in Ireland before the two of them had their falling out." He shrugged. "That is as far as we've gotten; Cassandra was out of the public eye for over a year and she stopped talking to just about everyone she knew during that time."

"And she was childless when she returned?" he asked.

"Well, yes," said Avery. "Unless she kept the girl hidden during parties and events and while travelling. You know, for several years."

Tom leaned his head back, studying the barren branches of the tree as he mulled over this information. Elena Vablatsky was a bastard, born to some mysterious man via her adulteress mother. For whatever reason, about ten years ago the couple took the girl in and masqueraded her as legitimate, despite Aurek Vablatsky's desire for children of his own. That would suggest Elena was originally being raised by her unknown father, and allowed the charade. Perhaps her father had died?

"Hm. Gentlemen, I think it might be time to confront Miss Vablatsky," he said at last.

Dolohov slid the letter into a pocket. "I am glad I could be of help, Tom. Please let know if there's anything more I can do. I am inclined to agree with Professor Slughorn that you are going places."

Tom stuck out his hand in offering, which the other boy gladly shook. "I will consider you offer. Thank you."

His week had started on a considerably good note.


	3. Chapter 3

Elena Vablatsky, he'd decided, was burdened by her circumstances. She kept mostly to herself, though she had some casual friendships. She sat with the same girls (her dorm mates, Tom believed) at every meal, though she was usually reading, and would only comment once or twice per sitting. Her voice was soft, her accent unremarkable (her "parents" owned property in Scotland, England, and Poland, so that stood to reason), her manner unassuming. She rarely answered questions, did not style herself to current fashion. Overall, she did everything she could to avoid notice.

Tom was certain this was intentional, and tied to the many secrets Vablatsky held. He would have them all soon enough.

It was Friday and they were in Potions, a double period. Vablatsky was working on her own, as were roughly half of the students. Slughorn had allowed them the option of that or working in pairs, though he'd warned that he would give no leeway in grading to those who chose the former. Tom hadn't realized the girl was adept enough to work without a partner. She was nearing the end and her potion was the proper rosy pink it should be at that point. She was skimming the instructions in the book once more, referencing a few pages back and the appendix as well. He was at the same point— letting the potion simmer for four and a half minutes— and wondered what she might be doing.

He'd taken to watching her quite a bit lately, though he had yet to observe her in this particular class; their last potion had required a partner, and Rosier was a slouch in the subject, having needed Tom's assistance to make it this far in the past. He could never let the young man attempt anything on his own, and he was now partnered with Nott, to Avery's annoyance.

Her pale brown hair (he supposed it was technically blonde, but its shade was more the color of dark tea with milk than golden or yellow) was tied back in a sloppy knot, her bottom lip sucked between her teeth as often as not. That was her thinking face. Her brows knit together, she shook her head, glanced up at the potion. It was not quite at the four minute mark. Her dark blue eyes skittered toward Slughorn where he was chatting with Hornby, then back to her cauldron. She gathered the cacao beans laid out where her ingredients had all been, nudged one onto the floor, and hesitated just a hair before sprinkling the remainder over the shining surface. Another beat and she stirred.

Tom turned to prepare his own ingredients, eyes hardly drifting away from her, still studying from his periphery. How curious; she'd had the proper amount, but chosen to put in fewer. Moreover, she'd stirred about fifteen seconds late. It wasn't a great deviation, but just enough that her potion didn't deepen as much as it should have. It was a touch paler than his own deep, velvety red.

At the end of the class, when Slughorn made his rounds, he paused at hers a moment to consider. "This is so close, dear. Quite a good effort, but the shade is _just_ off. Most definitely an Exceeds Expectations for your valiant effort," said the robust man, patting the small girl's back with a hand that was nearly as wide as she was.

Vablatsky's eyes were downcast, a soft, almost embarrassed smile on her face (no blush on her cheeks). "I don't know what I could have done wrong, professor. I was so sure…"

"Never fear, dear girl, your work is strong." The man beamed down at her, then removed his large palm from her back and moved on to Tom's table. "Now this!" he boasted as he neared. "This is perfection. You must have gotten the timing down to the precise second, a worthy feat indeed." Slughorn turned and invited the class forward with a sweeping motion. "Note, class, the depth of the red in the cauldron, the shadows of purple and black. This is a blood replenishing potion of highest quality. Good show, Tom!"

"Thank you, professor," murmured the young man. "I only followed the instructions you provided, and the knowledge you've imparted over the years."

"You are too modest."

Avery snickered across from him, his partner gently elbowing his side.

Beside Tom, Elena Vablatsky was smiling to herself.


	4. Chapter 4

It was dinner, and it was finally time for his plan to commence. Tom sat at the Slytherin table with most of his Knights beside him, though the seat beside Nott was empty of its usual occupant. Tom sipped at his pumpkin juice (a strange drink, but decidedly magical) and peered over the rim of his goblet to watch Avery flirt with the Ravenclaw who sometimes worked with Vablatsky at Potions. Weatherby? Wood? Something inconsequential. As was her habit, Elena's fair face was tucked into a book, cloth bound and so faded as for the title to be illegible. It was too easy for Alfred to slip something into her goblet.

He stayed there for a few minutes, flirting miserably while Nott pretended he was otherwise engaged in his meal. When he felt safe enough, the young man came back to his place and slid in beside his closest friend.

"Had fun?"

"Oh, shut it, Teddy. You know I didn't mean any of it," Avery responded.

The other boy huffed, but relaxed his shoulder to brush against Avery's.

Tom's attention was still focused at the table just beyond theirs, where the girl had just taken a sip of her water. She did not put it down right away, rather kept sipping as she paged through the book with her brows furrowed.

He sat back and smiled. Everything was going according to plan, then. When she'd finally endured enough chatter, she stood, book pressed to her chest, and headed toward the door. He knew where she would go.

He checked the time with a slight wave, the numbers wavering in the air in front of him before flickering away. It was more than an hour after curfew. He was just climbing the stairs to patrol the sixth floor, Dolohov with him for once. The younger boy had never paired with him, being a new prefect, but Tom had pulled a favor from the Head Boy. The time had come for Antonin to join at last, and this was the perfect mission given what he already knew.

As they reached the landing, he could hear hurried footsteps across the shining floor. The empty classroom ahead was the perfect study room for a Ravenclaw who preferred to be alone, since she had only to go down these steps and toward the spiral staircase to Ravenclaw Tower to get to her common room.

Tom held a hand aloft for Dolohov to pause, then stepped forward himself to intercept the rule breaker. "Well, this is a surprise," he said as a small figure came around a corner.

She stopped short, a silent gasp forced from her lungs, eyes wide as they glanced from him, to Dolohov, back to him. Her tongue darted across her lips, then she opened her mouth—

"You are aware it's nearly midnight? And curfew is, what, ten?" he asked, shoes clicking authoritatively against the floor as he approached her. Her shoulders were hunched in on herself, hair still disheveled from the nap she'd taken while studying.

"I—" she began, hushed voice sticking in her throat at first, "I fell asleep…"

"Fell asleep?" he repeated. Tom was beside her now, looming over her. While Tom knew he was quite tall (six feet and still growing yet), Elena Vablatsky was the size of a first year. If she came up to his shoulder, curled up as she was, he'd be surprised. "Did you hear that, Antonin?" Tom turned, voice lilting as he smiled at the other prefect. "She fell asleep. _Studying_, I'm sure."

Her face flushed at the unspoken implication, but this time Antonin spoke before she could.

"Who do you think will be coming around the bend next? My money's on McLaggen."

Tom barked a laugh. "He does like a challenge, and I'm sure this little wallflower was not an easy sha-"

"I would never!"

Both young men quieted, Tom's eyes glinting as they studied her. Her own were determined, her jaw set, shoulders pushed back for once. It was the most forceful he could ever recall her being.

"Interesting." He walked before her again and tipped his head as he looked over her features, the red—from embarrassment or anger or perhaps both—still flushing her pale skin, lips in a fierce line as her teeth pulled nearly the whole of the bottom into her mouth, eyes glaring under unfashionably limp bangs. "So there is something behind your shy façade." Her nostrils flared, eyes widening before glancing off to the side. "No, no. Don't hide now. I'd much rather have this discussion with _you,_ and not this farce your family has created."

Her face drained almost comically, and he could nearly hear the hum of nervousness from her as she stilled a shaking hand by flattening it over the book covering her chest. "I've no idea—" she began after a moment of silence, her voice once more little above a whisper.

"Don't think you can lie, Elena. Antonin here has some connections to your, ah, _father's_ family. Wouldn't you believe it, you and he were nearly family."

"We could have been cousins," Dolohov lamented. "You're such a lovely girl, too. I'm sure we'd have been close."

"That is," Tom continued, stepping ever-so-slightly closer to her, "unless you are not a Vablatsky by birth?" Her eyes shifted from his shoes, darting around before finally lifting to his face. When she noted his cold, too-knowing smile, she choked on a breath and turned abruptly away from him. His hand flew forward, grabbing one of her wrists where it had been swinging forward, and tugged her firmly back in place. "Ah-ah, Miss Vablatsky. You've been caught out after curfew. I'm doing my diligence as a prefect. One would almost think you wanted to get into even more trouble, the way you're behaving."

He could hear her teeth as they ground together, before she hissed, "You have no right to hold me against my will."

"Hold you against— Why, what a silly accusation. We're just having a little chat, so I can ascertain the, hm, severity of your infraction." He tipped her chin up with the tip of his wand, noting the way she refused to meet his gaze. "You've been keeping secrets, Elena. How am I to know you're not up to something, scurrying about at night like this?"

She squirmed away from his wand and he jerked her closer to him, so she could see almost nothing beyond his looming stature.

"Well?" he said after a moment of her silence.

"I have no secrets," she whispered.

Tom tsked and pulled his wand away. Before she could think to relax, he flourished it and she flew into the wall to their left, only her curved posture preventing her head from smacking back into the stones. The book fell from her arms and she was fixed in place. "Lies, Elena. Not very smart to lie to prefect who is only trying to help you. You are keeping secrets, and those secrets should be mine."

"What do you know?" she said at last, though she sounded both puzzled by his accusation and anxious.

"I know your _daddy_ wanted to divorce your mother until about ten years ago." He was tapping his wand at his side as he stalked closer to her, Dolohov moving in to flank him. He had no doubt they looked intimidating to the girl. "That he complained about her inability to bear him children. That your mummy conceived you around the time she was on tour. And disappeared for somewhere about a year. When you would have been born." He was close enough now that his robes brushed against her stockinged leg. Tom crouched close to her ear and said in a whisper, "And I know about your _gift._"

Her lower lip trembled as she breathed in and out slowly, shakily. "No."

"No, what?" he asked, almost kindly.

"You're lying."

"Hm." His hand darted out and she flinched, though he was reaching into a pocket to pull out a folded, worn slip of parchment. He unfolded it, the crinkling paper loud in their intimate space. When it was finally unfurled, he began to speak the words on it, though he stared at her face instead of the tightly spaced letters. "To Fly from Death, He gathers shades round Himself to become his Knights and eat that which He Fears Most. And Fear shall be His signature and Death shall be His Name. A Dark Lord is born… It goes on like that, again and again."

He could see the panic behind her stillness even as she said, "That's not mine."

"Oh, Elena," he laughed, letting the parchment stroke her cheek. "Dear girl, I saw you write it myself. I must say, I'm flattered you capitalized the words in reference to me—"

Her eyes finally locked on his, her mouth agape. It seemed she didn't realize _he_ was the dark lord of her little prophecy. He smiled and held the parchment up for Dolohov to take it from his hand, then stroked her cheek in a mockery of affection. "Yes, dear. I'm Lord Voldemort, your _Dark Lord who flies from death_. And you are going to tell me everything you know."


	5. Chapter 5

They were in the empty classroom. Elena sat at a chair directly in front of the professor's desk, where Tom was (naturally) seated, Dolohov standing at pseudo-attention beside the wooden structure. Tom was leaned back, his legs crossed under the dusty surface of the desk, peering at the girl as she attempted to compose herself. He twirled his long, bone-like wand between his fingers, elbow resting on the desk. His other fingers drummed on his thigh.

Elena (not Vablatsky, as he was sure she was born with a different surname) was closed in on herself, eyes downcast toward where her own little hands were clasped in her lap. Whereas she usually exuded a certain unremarkable aura; now she was, for lack of a more fitting word, sad.

She thankfully didn't cry, but her eyes were tired, heavy, and wide all at once. Her mouth had softened, shoulders slumped. It was as though she'd relinquished the mask and this was the little beyond.

The girl rubbed at the back of her neck and murmured, "I don't know what you expect from me."

"Everything."

She snorted indelicately, though even that was half-hearted. "Tall order."

"Well there, little bird, how about you start with your prophecies," he suggested, cutting to the heart of his interest in the girl.

The sheet of parchment was on the desk between them, where Dolohov had unceremoniously placed it upon entrance. Her attention flicked toward it, eyes scanning down the progressively illegible trudging letters. "That's about it, really," she said after a moment. "I've written that in my sleep half a dozen times. I didn't know what it meant…" until now went unsaid as her gaze stuttered on him and Antonin at his shoulder.

Tom stared back at her, features blank. "I'm sure. And your family circumstances?"

There was the little firespit, jaw clenching once more. "That is not your business."

"I think it is," he said with a hint of a smile. "I told you, I do not appreciate lies. Your whole persona here is a lie, and I will have the truth of it."

The lip sucked in and he could nearly see the cogs behind her eyes as she wondered what he knew and meant with those words. She was a clever girl, cleverer than she let on, but not nearly as clever as he was. "I am Cassandra Vablatsky's daughter, taken in by she and her husband. I'm a Ravenclaw here. You know about my gift—" the word was spat— "but that is all—"

"Six beans of cacao, stirred approximately thirteen seconds early. And I believe you stirred clockwise only eleven times rather than fifteen." Tom watched her face as he recited her wrongful actions earlier that day. "You were looking right at the instructions when you did so, though you'd cross-refenced a few areas beforehand. And I saw you push your seventh on the floor."

She tried to cover the flicker of panic, but he leaned across and slid his wand beneath her chin once more, forcing her to meet his gaze. Her own was in Dolohov's hand, a slim little Ash wand that the large youth had taken before Tom had allowed her away from the wall.

"I can see you forming your little lies already. Don't. I will tear the truth from you if you keep trying me." His voice was cold, pitch high, volume low. It was the voice his Knights knew meant danger. He was almost satisfied when her mouth closed again and she swallowed drily. "You've been playing at being a quiet, ordinary little mouse for too long."

Elena turned her head to the side, though the tip of the Yew wand still poked at her throat. "I didn't want anyone to notice me. I wanted to get through Hogwarts and disappear. I wanted to go home." It was at the last word that her throat and eyes burned and her eyes shone.

"Who is your father?" Tom pulled his wand away, certain this was where he started getting his answers.

"He is a muggle, just a muggle," she whispered. "Jack Mullens. His sister— my aunt— was a muggleborn witch, so he knew about magic. He loved reading about our world, and my mother loved his enthusiasm when they met. She knew the scandal it would cause when she fell pregnant, but my father wanted me so badly. His whole family was gone and he was alone, so he begged her to keep me and give me to him and she did. That—that monster who calls himself my father was furious when he found out. Until da got sick. He reached out, wanting to see if I'd have a home if—when—and—" He could see her struggling to speak, her voice growing slurred as her articulatory muscles clenched. She took a deep, shuddering breath in, leaned back as the tears finally spilled, and let it out through pursed lips. "He decided he wanted me when Cassandra finally brought him to meet me. I didn't want to go with them, but they offered potions and a medi-witch to visit da. He's still alive, receiving treatment, so long as I play the obedient daughter to them."

By the end of her speech, her Irish accent had slipped through, and each word was bitter as swallowing glass. Tom could see the truth written all over her face, and in each shuddering breath.

"And the prophecies."

Elena met his gaze without hesitation this time. "Mum would be too pleased if her daughter had her gift. She'd never cease parading me about were I gifted in any way."

Ah. This he could understand. She was ordinary to spite her mother, to hide in plain sight, so she could return to her father someday. This was a far less egregious transgression than he supposed. "How would they react if your lineage became known?"

She wiped away the salty tears around her reddened eyes. "They would have no reason to keep da in good health. He would be especially furious if people knew I was not his little girl."

"Why?"

He could see that fragility once more, the sadness beyond tears. Such a strange emotion, and one he wondered how he would have to prod to shatter completely. "Am I not allowed any secrets?"

Tom stood, Dolohov moving so automatically around him that he hardly noticed, and walked around the desk to sit atop it in front of her. "Shall I keep your secret, then?"

"I'm keeping yours," she said to the air beside her.

"I have but one, and you have many." He turned her chin to face him once more. "I could let slip to mummy that you're more special than you let on. I could continue prying about your supposed father. I could drop hints to friends in high society about the unfortunate circumstances about your birth." His dark eyes were boring into her, each word said with little inflection, but cutting deeply. "What would you do? Say you've been lying for years? That you wrote a little prophecy in your sleep and I'm a rising dark lord?" His laugh was oddly high. "No. You do not hold the upper hand here, bird. But I am willing to make a deal."

A slight nod, as her breath was still stuttering, pulse beating against his wand.

"You will give me your prophecies, speak of them—and whatever you learn about me and mine— to no one, and I will keep your secrets where they lie now."

"But what if—" She bit off her own words, chewing and considering with one shake of her head. "Any prophecies?"

Tom tapped his wand down to her shoulder. "But, Elena, you said you'd only had the one half a dozen times. You didn't lie, did you?" At the slight flush to her cheeks and the flare of her nostrils, he tutted. "We're friends now, and friends tell one another the truth."

"I'll only tell you prophecies about yourself," she said at last.

"You've had others?"

How funny, the girl rolled her eyes now, frustrated enough to forget herself even as her eyes and nose were still red from moments before. "I don't remember all my sleeping writings, and they only happen while I'm asleep. So, perhaps? Maybe? I know this one has happened a few times."

"Hm." He considered her, peered behind his shoulder to Dolohov, then turned back. "You already know I can suss out lies. If you have even the slightest reason to believe a prophecy is about me, you will tell me. You will," he emphasized. "Or I will go into your little mind and dig it out myself. And, Elena, if I do that, I will find everything." Her faced drained of color. "In return, I and my followers will say nothing of what I've learned about you this evening. Is that a deal?"

She nodded, eyes still wide.

"Good. Then you may go." He gestured to the brute behind him, who handed the small Ravenclaw her wand. She scrambled back, the chair jarring against the floor in her rush to put distance between them. As her hand closed round the doorknob, he said, "And Elena?" She turned, but did not look at him. "I will be watching." She nodded again and left the room, her footsteps hurrying down the hall.


	6. Chapter 6

Weeks passed, weather turning colder, until snow began to blanket the castle and grounds in its soft and bright white. The students were preparing to leave for winter holiday, but, as Tom told his Knights more than once, he had business at Hogwarts.

"Are you sure, Tom?" Nott asked again. "We've been invited to the Malfoy home for Yule, and Abraxas would love to meet you—formally, that is, not just in passing. The Malfoy Yule party is always the highlight of—"

"Then I can go another year, Theodore. Perhaps next." The clipped words were enough that his companion nodded. "Hogwarts during the break is more than adequate, though I appreciate your concern," he said, gifting Nott with a rare, warm smile. The other youth's cheeks flushed as he nodded, and Tom chuckled. It was too easy, really.

"Well, ah, I will owl you, then," Nott managed at last.

"I look forward to it," Tom lied, waving as the last of his Knights finally left the common room.

This was his favorite time of the year. The halls were nearly empty, a mere handful of students left from each house. He was the only sixth year Slytherin to stay every break, this one included. Most of the pureblood students had events, parties, the like, throughout the holidays. Slytherin was always the emptiest of the houses this time of year. Tom enjoyed the silence; it made it easier for him to think, research, plan. Moreover, with the castle so empty, the library was virtually bereft.

He stood, tucking his leather-bound journal into his satchel, and straightened himself on the way out of the common room. His leather soles clicked in the empty halls, and he found he enjoyed the sound echoing through the dungeons. The stairs weren't quite as resounding, but his pace was a quick tattoo on every other step. Up and up, and up, until he was before the familiar double doors.

There were no students cramming for exams, preparing essays last minute, whispering harshly to one another lest they induce the ire of the librarian.

Tom roamed the history section, pulling out the worn, familiar tome Hogwarts: A History, as well as A Brief History of the Hogwarts Founders, and Lost Relics. The thickest was, of course, the Brief History. His fingers tapped against the worn spine as he searched over the tables—

Ah, there was a certain little seeress, nodding over a book and a stack of notes. Her quill was in her lap, he noted as he came closer, scanning her over her shoulder. Her skirt was lifted just enough that a hint of pale thigh was exposed. There were strange scratches across them, and lines of ink. He raised a brow and slid into the seat beside her, releasing his books with a thump.

Elena startled awake, her fingers immediately gripping the quill so hard he imagined her nails must be cutting into her palm.

"An interesting place for a nap. Have you not been sleeping well?" he asked, expression innocent despite the slightly mocking tone.

The girl scowled, straightening her skirt and laying the quill aside. "I wasn't napping."

"Yes, I'm sure. And those marks on your leg aren't from you trying to keep yourself awake and unable to scribe."

Her cheeks flushed and she tugged at her skirt once more. "That is none of your business."

"Isn't it?" he said, pulling out his journal once more and setting it beside his research material, running one hand over its cover possessively. "I notice you've been working hard to stay awake during classes. While that's a worthy notion, I admit I would like to see what you would produce."

She had wiped at some ink on her arm to no avail. "I don't always do it, you know."

"I suppose you wouldn't," he agreed. "However, it is my business. Have you—"

"No, not since the time you saw," she murmured. "And, no. I don't know why it happens sometimes and not others, before you ask."

He lifted a brow, turning to study her expression. "Is it because of me you resort to such means to stay awake now?" Tom gestured toward her legs, which were now tucked together and tightly away from him under the table.

She shook her head, limp hair sliding over her shoulders. "I've tried different ways over the years, but staying awake can be difficult."

"Then why try?" At her scowl, he added, "If you keep on that way, no one will find you attractive."

"Good." She pointedly turned back to her studying, ignoring him. He watched her for a moment, one hand skimming over the page as the other held her quill over her lap.

He half-smirked, then set to paging through the yellowed pages of his own books, soon lost in tales of the feud between Godric Gryffindor and his own ancestor. He'd read two of these three books several times, but another look, when one was looking for something particular, never hurt. Especially as successive readthroughs often highlighted new details. There was something tugging at his memory, something about Ravenclaw and why there was no heir of that House…

He took in a breath, let it out in a sigh as he tipped his head back. It had been some time already, but he often got lost in reading. From his periphery, he saw that Elena was even more slumped than she had been when he'd turned to his books. She was asleep again. His eyes flicked to the hand in her lap, loosely holding the long, black quill. It twitched. He watched her face a moment, her lips parted, brows slightly furrowed even at rest. Gently, slowly, he slid his left hand under her wrist and raised it to the table. He could feel her blood pulsing through her veins, a steady thrum through her thin skin. Her wrist was small enough and light enough, he was sure he could close his hand around it and crush the bones in his palm. He wondered what kind of sound they'd make as they snapped, and whether she'd cry as quietly in physical pain as emotional pain.

When he'd finally laid the meat of her palm against the parchment of notes beside her book, a blotch of ink formed under the tip of the quill. Her hand twitched as he withdrew his, and then relaxed. The quill slipped out, and she swallowed, hummed in her sleep.

Tom stared at her ink-stained fingers, willing them to clutch the quill once more. He remembered clearly how she'd written before in class, how her sleeping self somehow moved fluidly between inkwell and paper. Surely, she could manage something as small as picking up the quill.

Her hand didn't move.

Tom glanced toward the clock, then slammed his book shut. Vablatsky jumped in her seat, blinking awake. Her eyes immediately went to the quill, narrowing as she turned to Tom. "I told you it doesn't happen every time."

"Obviously." He packed up his things. "Come, it's time for lunch."


	7. Chapter 7

He insisted on studying with her after that, as there were few other people in the castle.

"We made a deal, Riddle. I won't renege on it; nor will I share anything that does not involve you… what if I have a prophecy about—about—the Giant Squid or something?" she asked as they settled back into the little nook behind the history section of the library.

"Then I will escort you to the lake and you may read it to him. I'm sure the cephalopod will find it fascinating," he said as he laid out his belongings.

She pulled her hair back in a loose bun, producing a tie from somewhere to secure it. "I heard a rumor about it once. The Giant Squid." Her gaze ran over him askance and Tom leaned back in his chair, turning it just slightly to face her. She flipped open her book—

"Well?" he said.

"There's a theory the Giant Squid is an animagus. And that it's really Godric Gryffindor himself." Elena said the last after a dramatic pause. When Tom allowed himself a slight laugh, she seemed affronted. "What? It's as likely as that Gryffindor being the Heir of Slytherin last year."

He stilled, eyes flicking over her expression. "Yes. That." He began shuffling through his own notes then. "Don't worry your fair head about it, little bird."

"I'm sure the Heir would be a pureblood, some inbred aristocrat, like one of the many Blacks—"

"You would be surprised," he drawled, irritated at her pondering, and even more irritated that he didn't like her rambling about his heritage.

Elena paused her writing mid-sentence. "What? You? But—you're the one who—and Riddle isn't even a wizarding name—"

Tom pulled out his wand and thrust the tip under her chin. His eyes flashed red before he smoothed the snarl from his features and took a breath. "You will mind your tongue, or you will find yourself swallowing it and the blood from its severed nub. Am I clear?"

His wand stayed poised even as she swallowed, and the tip must have hurt as she did, but she nodded.

"Are you such a daft cunt that you'd believe the Heir would appear one year and a rising Dark Lord would find you the next?" Her eyes widened to saucers at his words, breath leaving her in a rush. Then he could almost see the pieces falling into place behind her irises.

"You killed Myrtle," she grated out.

"She had unfortunate timing." His hand was still, but he could feel her trembling through the wand.

"You set him up—the monster—it wasn't an Acromantula, was it?"

"No."

Her tongue darted out before she pulled her bottom lip into her mouth. She chewed on it a second, then said, "Are you going to kill me, Tom?"

It was the strangest thing to say in the moment, especially as calmly as she said it. He knew she was terrified, could see it in the thumping of her pulse at her throat, behind her eyes, the way her fingers longed to reach her wand; but her voice was steady, as though they were having a normal conversation.

He flashed a bright, disarming smile as he lowered his wand. "Of course not, dear. We have a deal, after all."

She took in a deep, shuddering breath and settled back into her seat, one hand fingering her wand where it sat. She only seemed to relax a bit once he'd returned to his studies, flicking through Relics. Tom could feel her watching him, a rabbit waiting for a snake to strike. "What?" he asked after a moment. When Elena shook her head, he sighed. "I shouldn't have used that word. It was, ah, unseemly of me."

"What— you mean when you called me a daft—" At his nod, she laughed, a nervous sound. "Not the threat, though?"

"No, I meant that. You can ask my Knights about my punishments some time," he said, jotting down a note with a flourish. "It would hardly be the worst one of them has experienced, but you're a girl and more delicate than they are. I doubt you could handle a round of the Cruciatus." Her quill dropped onto the table and he looked up once more to see shock writ across her face. "I tell you I've murdered someone, and you're shocked that I use an Unforgiveable?" Tom tutted. "You will have to toughen up a bit, bird. I will not take it easy on my Knights because it offends your delicate sensibilities."

"I hope to be around you and your Knights as little as possible once classes resume," she said. She glanced over at the book he was reading, eyes skimming down the page nearest her. "If you are interested in Ravenclaw's relics, why not talk to the Grey Lady?"

The shift was sudden, but he supposed she didn't want to dwell on Tom's unscrupulous behavior. "The Ravenclaw ghost? Why?"

Elena clucked her tongue. "She's Rowena Ravenclaw's daughter."

Tom's smile was genuine this time.


	8. Chapter 8

"But that's what you said during break," whined Nott.

Tom would have rolled his eyes, but he was watching as a certain Ravenclaw's quill skittered over her parchment. It was the first time he'd seen her perform such an action since first taking notice of her. Apparently prophecies really were rare things.

"That's because it's true. I have plans," Tom repeated firmly, noting how she once again blindly moved from inkwell to parchment and back again every nine words. His gaze flicked toward the professor, who was annotating something absently and not really paying attention to his students. Class had to be almost over, which meant he'd be able to see what the little seer was writing soon. He resisted the urge to shake his leg beneath the desk in impatience. Such urges were beneath him. His fingers had started drumming on the desk and he stilled them. "I mean it, Nott. I have plans this summer. Now, quiet."

The other young man frowned. "I've already finished my exam, Riddle. He's not going to mind—"

At the red flashing dangerously in Tom's glare, Nott fell silent. He returned to his observations.

It was the last class before summer hols. True to her word, Elena Vablatsky had refused to study with Tom and his Knights once classes had resumed after the new year. They'd spent a quiet break seated near one another, and he'd seen firsthand how unlikely it was for her to conjure her sleeping visions. At one point he'd asked whether drugged sleep would do.

"Drugged sleep? No—why would you—Don't even think of drugging me to try and get a prophecy out of me." She had pointedly sat across from him instead of beside him, having entered the library later. She knew better than to sit elsewhere altogether, because he'd inevitably show up when she wasn't looking.

He allowed a hint of a smirk. "You wouldn't notice if I did, Elena."

She prickled at the use of her given name, but did not comment; the last time she'd growled for him not to call her that, he'd pointed out that he could always call her Mullens. She'd dropped the issue then. "I would," the girl insisted, growing red at his scoff. "I would. How could I not notice being drugged—"

"You didn't before."

The red had drained quite abruptly as she realized the implication.

"Yes," he informed her. "The night we ran into each other was orchestrated. I should think that much was obvious by now."

"You," she fumbled, "bastard."

"Sticks and stones, dear. Besides, you're hardly one to cast aspersions on my birth."

"—I'll see you all in September!"

Tom blinked as the girl he'd been watching slowly pulled her way up from slumber, rocking over her desk and rubbing at her eyes. Once cleared of sleep, she looked down at the parchment. He could see the moment she realized, shoulders stiffening as she fought the urge to look over her shoulder at him. He was already packed, slinging his satchel on his shoulder as he stood.

"Miss Vablatsky, shall I escort you to your dormitory?"

She crunched the parchment under her palm, favoring him with a less-than-friendly look under her pale brows, laying it on top of her books as she grabbed her bag. "Fine."

He smiled brightly and swept her stack of books, parchment on top, from under her reaching hand. "Allow me. Can't have a delicate young lady like yourself bearing all this weight alone."

Nott snickered behind him, Elena's jaw clenching at both of them, but she stood and made her way out the door. Tom followed close behind, his longer legs enabling him to catch up and even reach the door before she did, holding it open.

"I wish you wouldn't do that," she muttered.

"Do what?"

"Act like a gentleman," she said.

They were passing the throng of students, almost out of earshot. Tom nodded to an alcove behind a tapestry of some medieval battle and Nott turned to face down where they'd just passed. "Here," he said, one hand wrapping around Elena's forearm to pull her behind the fabric.

"What on—"

He silenced her with a raised palm, dropping her books on a little ledge and smoothing his hands over the crumpled parchment.

To Fly from Death, He gathers His Knights, branding them with Fear and Death. In the shadow of the elder, He takes root. The Serpent is rising.

"Is this a joke?" he sputters after he's read three repetitions of the same. Tom looks up at her, her back to the tapestry as she stares up at him in puzzlement. He shakes the paper in her direction. "Well?"

"Erm, no?" Her brows furrow and she studies what little she can see of her own writing. "I don't remember writing it, if you remember. That's not how it works."

Tom steps into her, grabbing hold of her shoulder when she attempts to step back and create more room, the parchment crinkling against her robes. Before she can slide her hand to her wand, he grabs that wrist and clenches his fingers around it, feeling her bones shift slightly in his palm. It was a warning and she knew it. "You don't know what this means?"

Her eyes wide in terror again, and he could read the truth in them. She shook her head once, sharply, then grated out of a throat constricted with her own fear, "I told you, I—have the same ones a few times…"

"This is different from the last," Tom said. "I've apparently branded my Knights with Fear and Death. You mean to tell me you don't know why it changed?"

Something like curiosity swam across her face, from the twinge of her brows to the slight parting of her lips. He strengthened his grip on her wrist and the fear overtook it once more. "I, uhm, can I see, please?"

Tom pulled her against the wall, where she had no option to move around him once he removed his hand from her shoulder, and held the page aloft for her to grab with her free hand. Her lips moved along with the words as she read, tongue darting out to wet them once or twice as they scanned down to the end of her writing, where she'd woken (mid-sentence). She sucked in her lip, ran it through her teeth, then peered up at him uncertainly.

"This isn't what it said before?" she asked, voice halting and soft, tentative lest she incur his wrath.

He itched to pull out his wand and curse her into oblivion; instead, he drew in a long breath through his nostrils and slowly released it, pushing back the hair that had fallen onto his forehead. "No. Similar, but not the same." Another steadying breath. "You said you've written this one before. Where are the other copies?"

Elena shifted and glanced longingly toward the tapestry over his shoulder. "Erm." He could read the answer there in her eyes.

Tom's fist collided with the wall beside her head. "You threw them out?" She flinched inward on herself, her face turning away from where he'd hit, eyes screwed shut. "You're a fucking prophetess, and you threw out your visions."

She kept her cheek turned, eyes slowly opening to stare at the wall beside her and the spines of her book. Before she could think of a response, a voice came, "All right, Tom?" It was Nott.

"Everything is fine," came the prefect's tightly controlled response. "Right, Elena?"

The girl slowly turned back to him, staring up from her huddled posture. "Uh huh."

"Now, Elena, dear." Tom plucked the parchment from her shaking hand, folded it, slid it into a pocket. "Where will you be this summer?"

Other than the broken skin on his knuckles, the bit of blood seeping to the surface, the prefect could have passed for his usual serene self. He was composed once more, features straightened, hair neat. The girl studied him carefully, pulling her arms across her chest possessively. When he gestured at her with nothing more than an encouraging smile, her eyes narrowed. "I—I'm going to the Vablatsky home in Scotland. If I'm good, they'll let me spend a few days with da."

"I see. You will have access to an owl?" At her nod, his smile widened. "Excellent. Now, if you are trying to be a good girl, you will send any such writings to me immediately. Addressed to Tom Riddle, care of Theodorus Nott, Nott Manor. I will be checking in on you as soon as the new term starts, and you do not want to disappoint me, do you?"

She shook her head emphatically.

"Good." He stepped aside, holding the tapestry back so she could go through it after grabbing her books. "I'll be seeing you, Elena."

The girl scurried out of sight as Nott pulled out his wand and cast episky on his lord's hand. Tom turned around, smiling to himself even as he set thoughts of the seer to the back of his mind. He had a journey to prepare for.


	9. Chapter 9

In years past, Elena had always boarded the Hogwarts Express with something akin to nervous elation. Hogwarts was the safest place in the world, she'd been told once by someone (whom she couldn't remember). It was mostly true; the worst she'd endured was Tom Riddle's threats and blackmailing. While she could see the danger behind the words, he'd stayed true to their deal thus far.

"Sweetheart, give daddy a hug before you go," came the hated voice behind her. She paused in her hurried steps, waiting for the Vablatskys to catch up with her. Cassandra, regal, black eyes and hair hearkening back to some far-eastern ancestor, smiled indulgently as her husband wrapped their supposed child in a warm embrace.

Aurek Vablatsky was more German than Polish despite his name. His blonde waves were neatly curled back, pale green eyes framed by strawberry lashes. People assumed he was where Elena's coloring came from, the girl almost as fair in hair, though her blue eyes were nearly as dark as her mother's.

The man pulled her in tight, running his hands through her long, silken hair. Champagne, he called it. "And just as sweet as the drink." He tipped her chin up with one large hand—neither husband nor wife were petite, but Elena was— brushed his lips at the corner of her mouth. His thick, accented voice filled her ears as he pulled her in once more. "Daddy's going to miss you, mausi. I'm so glad it is your last year away."

"Hm." She pulled back at last with a tight smile. "And then I'll be off to find a career, I suppose."

"No rush, sweetheart," Aurek said. "Right, love?"

Cassandra nodded. "Of course." She held out her arm for a quick hug and kissed Elena's cheek just barely. As Aurek stepped forward to intercept the teenager once more, she laughed. "Aurek, let her go! She will be back for the winter holidays, after all."

"Oh, all right." A finger stroked down her cheek before the girl could move away. "Remember to write, mausi."

She nodded, still with that forced smile upon her cheeks, and turned on her heel, dragging her trunk behind her. At the end of this year, she would be an adult. Perhaps she could even find work before she had to return to one of the Vablatsky properties. She could afford her own medi-witch, someone to look after da, and live with him. Perhaps they could move to a wizarding village, and they'd be safe and together there…

Elena joined a compartment with other Ravenclaws; while not every Ravenclaw was studious and anti-social, there was usually one part of the train taken by those who preferred studious silence. That was where she felt most at peace. No one would question here there, her face hidden behind a book. She could hide in plain sight.

That was how she'd gotten through the last six years at Hogwarts, starting with sitting under the Sorting Hat as a first year.

"Ah, what have we here. Vablatsky? But that wasn't always your name." The girl had shaken her head, and the hat on top of it. "Hm. Quite the pickle you're in, dear. I see here you're loyal to your father—your real father. Clever, too. Not brave, no, but resilient. But, let me ask you something I'm sure no one else has in a while. What do you want?

"I just want to get through this," came her silent whisper.

"Not Gryffindor for you. You want to hide. Not Hufflepuff either, they'll all try to befriend you, that lot."

"Ravenclaw, maybe?" said the girl. She liked to read. Sometimes she would lose herself in books, in worlds where it was safe.

"All right, then—"

"RAVENCLAW!"

Now, seventeen and nearing the end of her time in the castle, she wondered what house she'd have been in had she stayed with her da. Cassandra (she only called her 'mother' to her face or before company) had been thrilled her daughter was an eagle. It was a proud house, a house suited for seers, for all with open minds.

Da, being a muggle, hadn't gone to Hogwarts. His sister had been a Hufflepuff though, and he liked to think that would have been his house too.

It was raining. It rained often in Scotland, and Elena found she liked it—but only at Hogwarts. Rain at Hogwarts meant curling up in front of a fireplace with hot chocolate or pumpkin juice, and a book. It meant a common room full of content Ravenclaws studying and murmuring in companionable quiet. Rain at the Vablatsky country manor meant she was trapped.

Elena slid a finger against the window beside her, tracing the path of a raindrop. The last trip back to Hogwarts. Whatever they might want, she didn't plan to leave for the winter hols. She hadn't since second year. However, she didn't look forward to Christmas at Hogwarts as much this year either. Riddle had been rather invasive when everyone left. Without his Knights to distract him, he'd had less to hold his attention. While some girls might think he was handsome, charming, being the sole focus of his attention was terrifying. Of course, she knew his capabilities.

A snake's jaw unhinging as it burst from the mouth of a skull. A flash of green, cruel, high pitched laughter.

She shook her head, trying to dislodge the images that haunted her.

Elena had been mostly honest with Riddle when she'd said she didn't remember her visions. She didn't remember the repetitive words, didn't remember writing them, nor everything she saw during. It was always like a dream, one that faded instantly, and she could only recall the vaguest impressions. She had no idea what any of it meant.

Her last one had been the day before. Rather than mailing it via owlpost, she'd chosen to bring it with her. She would pass it on to one of Riddle's followers when she could. Surely that would get to him faster than if she'd sent it out this morning.

She sucked her lip into her mouth, worrying at it, hoping he would agree.


	10. Chapter 10

Tom sat back in his usual spot, applauding where appropriate as the first years were sorted, smiling and nodding as his housemates congratulated him on the shining Head Boy badge pinned to his chest. He scanned the tables around him, content to be back at Hogwarts, pausing as he came to a familiar head of hair at the Ravenclaw table. As though sensing his gaze, the little prophetess looked up, her dark blue eyes meeting his own. He lifted a brow at her, having not heard from her throughout the summer.

The girl lifted a finger, sliding her hand into her robes and producing a folded slip of parchment. She tapped it once, then it laid it on the table.

Tom bristled, sure the girl could sense his anger. She shrugged apologetically, her brows twitching together. The prefects were taking the students down to the dungeons, but he had a meeting soon thereafter with the Head Girl to establish patrols. He tapped his fingers against his thigh, stroked the length of his wand through his pocket, and sighed. He'd have to find time somewhere.

A rush of applause broke out around him and he realized the youngest Black had been sorted into Slytherin.

"Is that your little brother, Walburga?" asked a girl a bit further down— a Bullstrode, he believed.

"Unfortunately," was the droned response.

He didn't care for Walburga himself, but she held certain beliefs that would make her sympathetic to his cause. He eyed the boy, an undersized, dark haired youth who looked almost embarrassed as he found a seat at the Slytherin table.

I wonder how many ways she's related to himself, he thought with a laugh. Surely at least two.

It was late. Were he anyone other than Tom Riddle, he wouldn't be risking a trip to Ravenclaw Tower. His meeting with MacMillan had ended, and he'd practically flown toward the stairs to climb up and up and up. The stairs seemed even more burdensome and he found he was able to skip more than before, having grown more over the summer (in so many ways).

Upon catching sight of the door, he slowed to a more composed pace and ran a hand through his hair, neatening his tamed curls. There was the knocker, bronze eagle awaiting someone to answer its query. There was no handle, no keyhole; only the bird. Tom wrapped his fingers around it and wrapped smartly, the sound echoing through the empty corridor.

The beak opened wide and the metal bird said musical voice, "What is yours, but others use more?"

He frowned at it, wondering if that was all, then said, "My name."

Another had used his name before, almost the entirety of it. In fact, all his name, each part of it, was taken from other people. It was his no more than the room in which he'd slept at the orphanage, less than the trinkets he'd once stolen from his fellow orphans. That was why he'd made his own name, one never heard before. Perhaps someday only he and those he deemed worthy would use it.

"Well?" he asked after a moment.

The eagle responded, "Quite," and the door opened wide to him.

The Ravenclaw common room was mostly empty, save a few older students who had stayed to read in the chairs interspersed across its breadth. High windows revealed a sky matching both the deepest blue of the carpet and the darkest velvet night of the ceiling. He surveyed the graceful arches, silken drapery, the marble statue of Rowena herself, and finally happened upon the reason he was here at all.

She'd stood upon his entrance, glancing around to see if anyone had noticed that a Slytherin had come into their domain. It wasn't forbidden, necessarily; that was part and parcel to having a riddle rather than a password. However, it was unusual. A pair of sixth years had darted glances toward him, but seemed unconcerned.

"Elena, good evening," he said once he'd crossed to her. "How was your summer?"

Her jaw rolled as she studied his face. "It happened yesterday," she muttered. "I thought it would be better not to send—"

At a lift of his brow, she fell quiet, fidgeting in place. Tom had rather thought the summer would have dulled the looming threat of his wrath, but Elena was as timid as ever. Perhaps more, since she was often more certain when there were witnesses present. Tom hadn't even expressed dissatisfaction with her. "Sit," he said after a beat, gesturing her toward where she'd sat when he came in. He sat at the seat adjacent to her and watched her for a second longer. She brought out the parchment, running her fingers along the edges and avoiding his gaze.

"My summer was perfect," he said. "Thank you for asking." Her cheeks lit up too easily. "I managed to accomplish something many have tried and failed at. I hardly thought of you, you'll understand. And while I usually prize obedience in my… retainers, I also prize the ability to reason, especially when it benefits me. Relax, Elena. I am not displeased with you."

Her posture loosened just a touch, but she still fiddled with the paper. Tom pushed the parchment to the table, and her hands fell away as he slid it toward him. "You wrote this yesterday, you said?" She nodded, eyes on the grain of the wooden table. "Look at me. Tell me."

Elena dragged her eyes to his face. She looked tired, dark circles around her eyes. She licked her lips and began to speak in a strained voice. "I fell asleep while reading in my bedroom. At my table. I'd just finished what packing I could. That's all there is to tell."

"How did you wake?"

Her hands tightened into fists atop the table. "Aurek woke me."

Ah, she had a particular dislike of her stepfather, Tom remembered. He tapped the parchment on the table before unfolding it and scanning its contents. Word for word, letter for letter, it was the same as the last she'd written. He could even see where she'd inked her quill at the same points, skipped the same distance between repetitions.

He sighed. "I was hoping for something a little more illuminating."

"Sorry."

He leaned forward, eyes darting from her hands to her face, her eyes faraway. "You seem more," he wafted his hand, searching for the word, "broken than you were last year. What happened during the summer?"

Elena blinked and refocused her vision on him. "Nothing. I suppose I'm always a bit melancholy when I've been, ahm, home." She frowned. "You're not worried, are you?"

Tom barked a laugh. "No. I'm protecting my interests. Your prophecies are potentially useful, or dangerous. Until I've decided their utility, I will make sure you're capable of providing them. You're of no use broken."

"Of course." She scrubbed her hands over her face. "I'm tired. If you're not dissatisfied with me, may I be excused?"

He waved his hand to signal his assent. "Goodnight, Elena."

"Goodnight," she said, rising from her seat and heading toward the statue.


	11. Chapter 11

They were in the library. Tom was supervising his Knights as they worked on various essays. His seventh years were trading Potions essays on the virtues of crushing versus cutting to obtain juice from fruit, whereas Dolohov and Rosier, sixth years, were scrabbling through Defense books. He had attempted to draw the young Black, Alphard, into his fold, but the preteen was oddly reticent. He was sitting at another table with a pair of Gryffindors. He thought they might be the Prewitt twins.

Tom had no unfinished work, but as the others finished, they laid their papers in front of him to review. He was skimming Avery's piece; it had passed through Nott already, who had an eye for grammar. It was passable enough, though it lacked enough sources for Tom's liking. He annotated a few suggestions at the side, indicated where he would rearrange a few arguments, and set it aside. "It falls between Acceptable and Exceeds Expectations as is, Alfred; I expect it to firmly fall in the latter category once you've reviewed my suggestions and changed it accordingly."

"Of course, Tom," said the tow-haired youth, accepting the sheaf of parchment back and beginning his revisions.

As this was their final year, Tom was preparing them all for their futures. He'd dictated where he wanted them in their last school year, starting them on their individual paths. Now, he needed to ensure strong enough NEWT scores for their placement. Moreover, he needed to ensure the younger Knights had direction once he graduated. He had thought of applying to teach, thus ensuring his continued influence over Hogwarts students. However, he doubted even he could convince Dippet of his fitness. Not with Albus Dumbledore speaking against him as deputy Headmaster.

He sat back in his seat and surveyed the library surrounding. Alphard and his Gryffindor friends were there; there was a table of third years, mostly Hufflepuffs and a few misfits they'd managed to befriend; and there, at the table she seemed to favor when at the library, was Elena.

"Rad," Tom called.

The brooding Lestrange looked up from his work. "Yes, Tom?"

"Who is that? The Hufflepuff talking to Vablatsky?" He gestured toward the tall, slim boy whose yellow and black tie was askew.

Rad tapped his quill against his parchment, thick, black brows pinched together. "I think he's a friend of Diggory. Jasper something or something Johnson. No one important. Just a Mud—muggleborn." His black eyes danced around them, relieved when he saw no one who would mind his slip. Tom was particular about his Knights minding their language outside of meetings.

"Hm."

Elena was smiling up at the Hufflepuff, and after a moment, the boy slid in beside her. Tom stood abruptly, making his way to the murmuring pair.

"I like tea well enough," the inconsequential boy said, fiddling with his quill. "I am a Brit, after all, but I don't get butterbeer at home, so—" He cut off abruptly as he noticed Tom standing over them. "Ah, hello, Riddle. Er, did you need something?"

His bored into the witch, whose eyes flitted between her companion and Tom, sensing his disapproval. "I'd forgotten, Dan. I asked Tom to look over something for Arithmancy for me," she said after an elongated silence.

"Right, of course." Dan, as apparently was his name, flashed a smile, bright white in his dark face. "I'll see you Saturday, though?" he asked Elena as he gathered his bag. At her nod, he smiled again. "I'll see you then. Good day, Riddle."

He ignored the Hufflepuff, silently sliding into the vacant seat.

The girl was chewing her lip, reorganizing her study materials. When it seemed she finally realized he was not going to speak first, she sighed and set aside what she was working on. "What?"

"What 'what?' I thought I was here to look at your essay." His voice was dripping with sarcasm. "The one we turned in yesterday?"

Her eyes began to roll back before she remembered herself. "I didn't want to tell him that you probably wanted to see whether I'd written you a new prophecy," Elena muttered.

"As a matter of fact, that's not what I was doing." At the question flitting across her face, he continued, "I came to see what Johnson—" Tom remembered his name now— "wanted with you."

"Oh." She looked down at her hands, face flushing. "That. He asked if I'd go to Hogsmeade with him this weekend, is all."

"No," Tom said.

Elena turned to him completely, chair barking against the floor, her mouth ajar. "No? No, what?"

"No, you will not go to Hogsmeade with him."

She looked incredulous, wide eyes dancing across his neutral expression, mouth opening and closing as she got her bearings. "You can't dictate that—"

"You'll find that I can," he cut in smoothly. He leaned toward her, forearms on the table between them, locking gazes with her as his voice dropped. "I'll not have you running around with someone like him. You should keep to wizards of reputable families."

"In case you've forgotten, Riddle, my aunt was muggleborn, and my father a muggle." Her own voice, while still hushed, was the hardest he'd ever heard it. "And I am not one of your Knights for you to control—"

"No, you are most definitely not one of my Knights." He smiled, more a baring of teeth than anything else. "Hm. You're more like… a pet. My pet seer. And, if you didn't know, good owners don't let their pets sully their bloodlines." Her lips parted again, and Tom was sure the girl was furious. "Unless you are looking for an argument—and you certainly wouldn't win—you will keep your mouth shut and listen to me. Again, you should count yourself fortunate that you're a girl, and I'm of a mind to be gentle with you. Should one of my Knights act in such a manner, I would have him screaming under my wand. I'm a Dark Lord, not a schoolyard bully, and you had best remember that. Or I shall make you a lesson impossible to forget. Do not make me regret my leniency."

Elena's face was white by the end of his speech. Tom patted one of her tightly fisted hands and stood once more. "We will talk again soon." With a condescending smirk, he made his way back to his table.

His Knights were all staring down at their individual papers silently, avoiding his gaze. He had no doubt they had watched the interaction, though only a few knew of his interactions with Elena Vablatsky. None of them would dare ask, though he knew they would be passing what little information they had as soon as he was out of earshot.

Those who knew would not divulge anything without express permission.


	12. Chapter 12

Hogsmeade in October was the definition of Halloween to Elena. Everything was pumpkins and candles, spiced air and colorful décor. While not as busy as Diagon Alley, witches and wizards could still be found on landings discussing the latest happenings. It was cool, and she could almost taste the chill of winter on the air, but Elena forewent the additional warming layers of hat, gloves, and scarf. In truth, she hated anything that restricted her senses. While warming charms weren't technically allowed while off school grounds, everyone turned a blind eye when students cast such on themselves or classmates.

Thus, she wandered the little village perfectly cozy. She made a list of everywhere she wanted to go, and why.

The Vablatskys always ensured her school materials were in pristine condition and top of the line (something Aurek prided himself in), so she had no need for Dervish and Banges, nor the apothecary, her potions materials full to bursting. Honeydukes was a definite must, but she would wait until the crowd dispersed a bit first. Not only did she crave sweets something fierce, but her da was enamored of wizarding treats. They reminded him of his sister, who would send home packages of Ice Mice and Chocolate Frogs and Fizzingwhizbees. She'd come during the summers with pockets full of harmless pranks from Zonko's, and little bits and baubles that treaded the Statue of Secrecy. Elena made sure to send him some whenever she could.

Scrivenshaft's for stationary—she had fallen in love with a particular set that had scented, blooming flowers; since then, it was the only parchment she sent to her father.

She wanted to go to the music shop and pick up new sheet music for her da, but that could wait until the next trip. Jack Mullens was a fiddle player. He'd been a street musician when he met Cassandra Vablatsky, though he'd turned to respectable work to keep himself and Elena kept in good standing. He specialized in Irish folk music, and on occasion she had found some wizarding tunes for him to add to his collection.

Oh, and Tomes and Scrolls was a must for every Ravenclaw—

"Oi, Vablatsky!"

Elena halted in mid-step, turning to look over one shoulder and then the other. As her brow furrowed in confusion, a hand clapped on her back. "There you are!" Dan Johnson's warm brown eyes met hers, a laugh still at the corners of them. "I've been looking for you. Are you ready for that butterbeer? You did say you'd prefer a butterbeer, right?"

The girl blinked, hearkening back to their conversation earlier that week. She surreptitiously swept her gaze around the surrounding area, no older Slytherin students in sight, and nodded. Yes, Riddle had warned her against going out with the Hufflepuff, but they'd met here. Surely, he couldn't blame her for running into a friend. They'd have a quick butterbeer, chat, then go their separate ways.

He wound his warm with hers and spun the pair of them around. "Some friends of mine were holding a spot for us. I hope you don't mind." His dark cheeks flushed, and he scratched the back of his neck. "I—they're about to head to Spintwitches', so they won't be with us long."

"It's fine," she assured him. In fact, if they were around others, Riddle might be more likely to forgive her supposed transgression. Friends gathered in groups; dates were one-on-one.

The Hufflepuff rambled as he guided her back to the Three Broomsticks, and she took the opportunity to study him. He was tall, a head taller than she was, and handsome. He had short, dark curls, and friendly eyes. Elena had never seen him be anything other than respectful and warm toward others. Even when Tom had rudely interrupted them, he'd kept the smile on his face. She liked that.

And, being nearer to him now than she'd ever been before, she found she liked the warmth of scent too. He smelled like rosemary and cinnamon; she wondered what soap he used.

"I'm sorry. I have a tendency to go on when I'm nervous," he said as they sidled through the doorway and into the warm pub.

"Why are you nervous?" she asked, and he stifled a laugh, drawing her toward a table full of Hufflepuff boys who must be his friends.

"Elena!" came a cry from the three new faces, all in a chorus. Dan shot them a good-natured scowl that did nothing to deter them.

"Ah, Merlin," he grumbled. "Sorry 'bout them. Elena, these are my mates—John Aimes, Amos Diggory, and Lee Westwood."

They all shared a grin before crying out again, "Elena!"

"And they all know who you are," Dan said apologetically. "Bunch of berks."

Diggory nudged his friend with an elbow. "Aw, c'mon. You love us. Besides, we got you these," he said, sliding over two tankards of butterbeer. "I owe you, after all."

The two of them exchanged a look and a smile, then Dan slid one of the foaming glasses to her. "They're not all bad," he admitted.

She took a sip, watching the interplay between the four boys. It was sweet, both the butterbeer and the Hufflepuffs. They were clearly trying to be supportive of their friend, who was embarrassed and grateful all the same. Dan had pulled out a chair for her, which she slid into. He took the one beside her and kept darting glances at her as he pointedly asked the others what their plans for the rest of the day were.

Elena found herself enjoying their company and their playful banter. She pulled her hair over one shoulder and plaited it absently while Diggory and Aimes bickered over whether to go to Zonko's or Tomes and Scrolls after the sporting goods store, then warmed her hands around her tankard.

A throat cleared loudly behind her and Elena nearly sloshed her drink.

"Oh, hey, Riddle," said Dan. His smile was stiff now, no doubt remembering how the Head Boy had cut in at the library.

"Johnson," said the voice. She did not want to turn and face him, but one pale hand laid on her shoulder and she slowly glanced back at him. "There you are, Elena. I was beginning to get worried."

The four Hufflepuffs were watching them now, and her face heated up. "Oh, I'm sorry, Tom. I just ran into the blokes here and they invited me for a butterbeer."

"My fault," said Dan. "I wouldn't take no for an answer."

"I see." His dark gaze scanned the lot of them, then settled on her once more. "I didn't realize you were so popular, Elena. Are all your friends Quidditch players?"

Aimes scowled and butted in before Dan could say anything. "I's not like tha', Riddle. We was jus' headin' out when Dan 'n' Elena came in and sayin' hi."

She could have slapped her face at the Londoner's words, but didn't. Instead, Elena set down her tankard and favored the Hufflepuffs with a smile. "I've got to get going, but it was delightful seeing you all outside the classroom." She gave a slight wave to Dan, regret settling heavily in her belly, then turned to look at the Slytherin. "Tom?"

She laid her arm over the one he proffered, and his opposite hand immediately pressed on hers, gripping so that her fingers squashed together painfully. She was effectively trapped, not that she would have tried to get away; if he was angry now, that would lead toward true fury.

Avery, Nott, Lestrange, and Dolohov all awaited them outside the Three Broomsticks, a pair flanking either side of them as they walked toward the wooded area beyond Hogsmeade. It wasn't strictly forbidden to skirt the borders of the village, but prefects and professors often checked in to make sure nothing untoward were going on.

As they passed beyond the normal hum of village noise, Tom's hand left hers to flick his wand. The sound dampened more, and something shimmered in the air. They kept walking past the treeline, but not a one of them spoke until they made it to a small clearing with a downed tree and a high, thick stump.

Tom swung her around as soon as it was in sight, and she almost fell before righting herself.

"Expelliarmus."

Her wand flew into his open hand and he tucked it away, staring down at her impassively. He'd wiped away the human accoutrement he usually wore, and now his face was all harsh planes. More of a statue than a man. Elena swallowed past the tightness in her throat, glancing at the four other Slytherins, who were attempting to emulate their lord. She would find no help there.

Elena straightened and neatened her robes, trying to hold back the fear attempting to take over her. Why had she agreed to have a butterbeer with Dan? Riddle had warned her, and she knew better than to take his threats for granted—

-A green serpent coming out of the screaming skull—

She drew in a shaking breath. He doesn't own me. Riddle was still a student. Surely, he wouldn't do anything truly harmful. He couldn't, not with the professors still on edge from last year. From Myrtle's death, which he'd gotten away with.

"I told you that you were not to associate with the Mudblood." His voice was soft, almost silken, and devoid of anger. Elena flinched at the slur, but stood firm. "I told you I'd been relatively kind to you thus far. Have I not been lenient with our little prophetess, gentlemen?"

They all murmured their agreement.

"I did not want to punish you, but you have forced my hand—"

"Tom," she began, "Please—"

"Rumpe."

A red light shot toward her belly. She felt something like a twist to her insides. It was at first like a stomachache, then radiated outward, stabbing into her. Elena doubled over, coughing into her hand. It was as though someone were now punching her in gut and she couldn't stop the huffs at each invisible blow. She coughed wetly into her hands as a particularly harsh spasm hit, then fell to the ground. Her hands were red against the earth and dirt was sticking to her. The twisting, punching, turning of her insides was slowly expanding into organs other than her stomach. Her lungs spasmed, her heart beating frantically. And she kept coughing, the dark red blood spilling out over her cupped hands, tears and snot mixing in as she tried to beg beyond the harsh constrictions of her throat. Elena looked up, fingers pressed over her mouth, smearing her own blood over her face, locking eyes with Riddle.

He flicked his wrist, eyes hooded as he stared down at her. Her gut twisted again and she reached out to him, groaning.

"Tom?" asked Nott. The other man didn't move. "My lord."

"It's hardly a punishment, Theodorus. Nothing to the Cruciatus."

"Still, my lord."

Riddle sighed. "Very well." He tipped his head at Elena, where she lay gagging over her own blood on the ground. "Have you learned your lesson, then?"

She nodded, curling over herself.

"Good. Finite."

Elena broke into sobs, wiping first at the blood on her face, then her shaking hands moved to rub it on her robes instead.

Tom crouched down, smoothing his thumb over some of the blood on her cheek. He absently sucked it off his digit and she recoiled. "Now you know to be a good girl," he almost sang. "Don't you?" When she nodded again, he lifted a brow. "Say it."

"Yes." At the flash of red in his eyes, she added, "My Lord."

"Good." A brief flash of teeth passed for a smile. He stood. "Nott, Avery, clean her up. Make sure she gets back to Hogwarts safely. We wouldn't want her to get lost again."

The two chorused their acquiescence as they huddled around her, brandishing their wands. Elena stared at Tom's back as he walked away, his other two Knights following at his gesture. She glanced down at her hands again, cold tears still leaking onto them from her cheeks, mingling with her swiftly drying blood. Her vision blurred, and when it cleared again, gone was the blood and dirt. She looked back up, Nott's hand extended to help her to her feet.

"I'm okay," she whispered, more for herself than for them. "I'm okay."


	13. Chapter 13

It wasn't until Charms class Monday morning that the girl even dared to look at him again. They were to break into groups and practice the confundus charm. Tom had been wondering when she would finally approach. His lips twitched into a smirk as he saw the pale girl hovering nearby.

"Elena, have you come to join our group?" The other two Slytherins watched their lord. "By all means," he gestured."

She stepped into their circle, eyes still downcast, but turned toward him. "You still have my wand," she murmured at last.

Tom's brows rose, a feigned gasp leaving his mouth. "Do I really?" He made a show of patting his robes, frowning as he came across the slim little Ash wand. "Ah, I do. Would you like it back?"

Her eyes narrowed, tongue flitted across her lips. "Yes. Please."

"All you had to do was ask, pet," he said, leaning over to make a show of presenting her wand to her. She plucked it deftly from him and began to turn. "Stay. Practice with us."

Elena's body was rigid, her face carefully blank. "If I must."

Tom smiled indulgently. "I insist. You may even go first. Cast on Avery." The other boy chuckled when her paltry attempt rolled off him. "No, no, no. That won't do. Watch." A quick flick of his wand with the command, "Confundo!" and Elena blinked dizzily. There was a dreamy quality to her expression, and she swayed on her feet as she took a step forward. Tom caught her around the waist and flicked his wand once more to end the spell. The girl froze, a strange, quiet sound forced between her lips. "There," he said, releasing her. "That is how it's done. Now, again."

She drew in a shaky breath, pulled herself a step away from him, and repeated the motion. Her voice was still closer to a whisper, grating, but there was force behind it this time. "Confundo!"

Avery stumbled, then righted himself as the charm was just that instant.

"Better," said Tom. "Again."

Most of what being Head Boy entailed was tedious. He had to set patrols, and patrol himself on occasion, enforce rules, take points. While his counterpart liked to be in the thick of things herself, Tom preferred delegation. He was a leader, not an enforcer. However, he was fortunate in that he often heard important happenings others were not privy too.

That was how he knew to go to the Clocktower courtyard that afternoon. It was a free period for the seventh years, and most of them were studying away, or pretending to do so. He slipped out into the cool autumn sun and peered about. He could see a tall woman on the other side of the fountain, her dark hair flowing over her shoulder, and he tiptoed closer.

"You have missed the last four years. Your father is—"

"He's not my father," cut in a familiar voice.

"You will come, Elena. That's final."

"I—"

"Elena, there you are. I thought you wanted to study together?" Tom said as he rounded the fountain's structure.

Cassandra Vablatsky turned toward him, studying him with black eyes that even he felt had a certain force behind them. She was a tall woman, slender, and her eyes warmed as they happened upon the badge on his chest.

"Ah, forgive me." He'd stepped beside the small girl, his arm curving around her waist as though by instinct, and a blush formed on his cheeks as he seemed to notice the woman. "I didn't realize you were meeting someone."

Elena was still in his embrace. She frowned at him.

"And who is this?"

Tom ran a hand through his curls and smiled sheepishly. "Tom Riddle. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt."

"And you're Head Boy?" One of the woman's dark brows rose, and she smiled at his nod. "Cassandra Vablatsky. No need to apologize; I was just discussing our holiday plans with my daughter."

"Oh, Missus Vablatsky." He pulled his arm away from Elena as though burned, and took the older woman's hand in both of his to shake. "I am doubly embarrassed. You must think me uncouth, just grabbing your daughter like that."

Her laugh was rich, throaty. "Not at all. I'm just surprised. Elena didn't mention she had a beau."

He nudged the girl gently, pulling her loose hand into his own and twining their fingers together. "It's rather new. We were going to make our first appearance at the Malfoy Yule party." At Cassandra's frown, he said, "You didn't tell her, Elena? We've been invited to take the holidays with my good friend, Theodorus Nott. His fiancée is coming as well, so Elena will have a fellow lady to keep her company."

"Oh," was the response. "No, she didn't write about it."

Elena held still, her hand sweating against Tom's cool palm.

"Elena, pet, you weren't thinking to hide me from your parents?"

Both her mother and Tom turned to look at her and she swallowed, shaking her head slowly. "I—I'm sorry, Tom. I must have forgotten." Her voice was flat, airy, distant from her usual tone. He smiled, his white teeth flashing in her eyes.

Clapped hands called their attention back to the older woman. "That's settled, then. You will have to come to our home for the annual New Year's Eve ball."

He could hear Elena's jaw snap shut. "Mother, I don't think—"

He pulsed his hand around hers and she fell silent. "That would be wonderful." His voice lowered, as though imparting something intimate, eyes softening. "It is my birthday, after all."

"Perfect!" Dark eyes sparkled as Cassandra pulled her daughter forward for a quick hug, not noticing that the girl's hand remained enclosed in Tom's. She turned to him. "My husband will be so pleased to meet you. Elena, be sure to owl as soon as you're at the Nott's home. Hm. Perhaps I should invite them. And the Averies. They have a son your age as well, correct?"

"Yes, ma'am. Alfred. He's a good friend."

Her smile was everything her daughter's had never been. "I'll be off then. Elena, don't forget! Goodbye, darling!"

She waved to the two of them and strode back inside the castle, her lithe body swaying out of sight.

Tom rounded on Elena, pushing her back against one of the columns of the fountain. "What was that about?"

She was already shaking and he'd hardly touched her. "N-n-nothing," she stammered, voice painfully high in her throat. "I told you, I don't like them." Her eyes staring fixedly at his throat, her words hampered by the obvious dryness of her mouth.

Tom tipped her chin up and she obediently met his eyes. He could read the fear in them. It was not fear of him. It was… someone else. "Why?"

Her eyes flinched, color brightening with emotion. He realized her eyes were usually brighter when she was especially upset. It almost made him smile. He watched her suck her lips into her mouth, tongue flitting out to wet them both at once. "Please, don't."

"Don't what, Elena?" He shifted closer to her, his wand easing up to her temple as he stared into her eyes. Tom wondered if he could do this without saying the word. He'd done it with his Knights before, but not her.

"I don't, I can't say it." Her eyes were trembling with tears now. He pushed further, sinking into them—

"Where is my little mausi? Oh, sweetheart—" They were under the bed, where it was dark and safe and cramped and cool. There were footsteps across the floor—

"No!" Elena pushed him, jolting him from her mind, screwing her eyes shut and sinking to the ground. Her arms wrapped around her knees, head buried against them.

Tom examined her from his height, her face completely concealed by the lank hair over her shoulders. He was surprisingly not angry about her pushing him. Then again, it hadn't been enough to budge him significantly. Without magic, someone of her size could never harm him. "I'll overlook your behavior seeing as you are obviously distraught." Her head tilted as though to hear him better. "You should be thanking me. Instead of spending your holiday wallowing at one of your family's estates, I'll have to drag you with me while I hobnob with the aristocracy. Nott will be pleased. Oh, stop your crying." She sniffed and turned her face so he could see one red-rimmed eye. "At least you're not loud about it. I can't stand wailing. Stand up. Come on."

She slowly unfurled.

"I am not going to coddle you."

A strange noise barked from her throat and he realized it was a laugh. "I wouldn't expect you to," she said in a voice just as harsh and subdued.

Her eyes were surprisingly dry; she looked more defeated than anything, and it reminded him of the start of the term.

"Good. Are you composed now?" She nodded. "Go to your dormitory. You're in no fit state to socialize." Another nod. "We will discuss holiday plans at a later date, understood?"

At his pointed words, she said, "Yes, Tom," and made her way back toward Ravenclaw Tower.


	14. Chapter 14

As predicted, Nott was overjoyed when Tom mentioned he would be gracing his home for the winter break. "Elena will be joining as well," he added. The Nott heir had responded that he would write his mother; she had always wanted a daughter and would dote on young ladies whenever they called.

Elena was less than pleased when the Knights settled around her at their before-break study session in the empty classroom, and Nott said, "My mother is so excited to find you dress robes for the Malfoy party. She wanted to know what your favorite color is. She also asked me a slew of questions. Do you know what season you are?"

"Er, I was born at the end of winter?" she replied, bafflement written across her face.

Nott chuckled. "I haven't the faintest what that means, either. Don't worry, I'm sure she will have you all situated when we get there." He elbowed Avery on his other side. "I heard your bride is going to be joining us this year." The other young man rolled his eyes and grumbled something about not being babysitter, which brought about another chuckle.

"At least she will have the build Alfred prefers," Tom purred. "Straight-figured as an arrow, right? I only hope she stays that way, rather than taking after her… cousin." Walburga's name need not be mentioned for them to take his meaning.

Avery tried to shrug nonchalantly, saying, "I like a bit more height on them, Tom. Not all of us take to shrinking violets."

Tom minded the way said violet tensed. "I'm just particular about what kind of soil my little flower lands in. Can't have her trying to take root in mud, can we?"

Nott nodded, Avery adding, "True, true."

"Clever," she sighed. "You've made quite sure of that, thank you."

He'd caught the girl staring longingly toward the Hufflepuff table in the Great Hall a time or two, but she always looked away if any of the boys noticed. For weeks, Johnson had watched after her. A few times, he'd made to approach, but she'd evaded him. The last time, Tom had swept in just before the other young man and thrown a friendly arm around her shoulders. That had put an end to it.

He smiled now. "Yes, I have." He pulled a piece of parchment laden with red ink toward him and tutted. "Avery, you need to be especially attentive with your Transfiguration assignments. How many times have I told you that?" There was scrolling 'Acceptable' at the top near the Slytherin's name. The pale browed boy muttered an apology. "This is atrocious," he said, scanning it. "I'd have been pressed to give the same grade. Didn't Teddy read it over?" Avery shook his head.

"I forgot," he mumbled.

"You forgot?" Tom levelled his gaze with the other man's. "You forgot you had eight feet due on the complications of transfiguring non-human beings due?" He took in a breath through his nose and let it out with a hiss. "The next time you forget an essay, I'll have Nott punish you for me. Understood?"

"Yes, Tom."

Tom nodded and glanced down to the quietest of his older Knights. "Lestrange, would you work with Avery on his next Transfiguration essay? I think his study sessions with Nott have been more of a distraction than aid."

"Of course, Tom," he said, with only the mildest snicker at the insinuation.

Elena looked between Avery and Nott, head tilted. Tom smirked as she tried to work out what was going on. He would have to drop more hints until she figured it out; he wondered how red she'd become when she realized the two were actually lovers. Even a hint of physical affection mortified her.

Tom shut his book, the sound startling the others in the quiet of the room. "It's almost time for Slug Club, gentlemen. We need to clean up before then." He patted Elena's hand before standing. "Just the men tonight I'm afraid, sweetheart."

She did not look at all put off by the statement, though she eyed his hand with distaste. "Right. Have fun with that."

Whether Elena Vablatsky had ever been invited to the professor's gatherings, he could not remember her attending. It seemed the sort of thing she would avoid, given her preference for keeping out of sight. He pondered that as his cohort headed toward the dungeons.

Elena was intelligent. As intelligent as any of his Knights, more than some (Avery being the most obviously dense). Had she been honest about her abilities, her Sight included, he had no doubt Slughorn would find her a welcome addition. Tom had realized she strived for exactly one grade lower than whatever she could naturally perform, though she studied as ardently as any of the more competitive Ravenclaws. He wondered how her NEWTs would come back were he to encourage her to put forth her best effort.

The four of them joined Black in the dungeons, shaving charms applied, neckties straightened.

How amusing would it be to have her show her true form after the break, he thought suddenly. After all, NEWT scores would be owled to their recipients; Tom wanted to see how the professors and fellow students would react to Elena's sudden growth. It was like a prank, a secret he'd known all along (well, since last year) they'd not been privy to. And he could rub their noses into it, now that she was known to be among his "friends."

Yes, that's what he would do. It would also open more options for her once she'd finished Hogwarts. He hadn't even started considering where to place her yet, an oversight he needed to rectify.

As he murmured the password to Slughorn's office, his smile was almost genuine.


	15. Chapter 15

He had not seen Elena at breakfast. Most of the students were abuzz as they prepared to board the train back to Kings Cross. Her usual spot at the Ravenclaw table was notably empty. As the plates for the morning meal Vanished, he murmured, "I'm headed to the library," to the Slytherins beside him.

"The train leaves soon," said Nott.

He nodded, but made his way out of the Great Hall and toward the library anyway. It was possible she had decided to get some last-minute research done for the work due in the new year; Elena had mentioned wanting a head-start on their assignments, to which Nott had replied that his family had a wonderful private library of their own. She had not seemed assuaged.

The library was empty barring the librarian herself, who scowled at his disarming smile. It transformed to grimace as the door shut. He eyed the stairs and began his climb toward Ravenclaw Tower. The girl would pay for making him ascend so many unnecessary steps. His only reprieve was when he caught one of the Ravenclaw prefects about to enter.

"Wait," he called. The fifth year spun to face him, lighting up with a smile. "Could you possibly do me a favor and fetch Elena Vablatsky for me?"

Her face fell a touch, but she nodded and said, "Sure," before continuing on her way.

Tom leaned against the wall beside the door, neatening his hair and surveying his clothes to assure it hadn't wrinkled on his journey. Contrary to popular belief, he actually had to wake every morning and prep himself to look this perfect; he didn't wake with gelled hair and starched collars. Granted, he'd learned a few domestic charms to ease the process, but that was beside the point.

He ran a hand over the smooth planes of his jaw, checking for errant stubble. He hadn't needed to shave until last year, but it was already tedious. However, he would rather get rid of all of it permanently than allow it grow into a mass with life of its own, like a certain professor seemed inclined to.

Actually, going hairless wasn't a bad idea. While it would hardly look ideal, it would make certain potions far more difficult for enemies. As it was, Tom's looks were a means to an end; with enough power, he couldn't care less whether people thought he was handsome, and there would always be women attracted to power willing to tend his needs. He'd noted certain… changes after the incident with the Warren girl, though he doubted anyone else could see it. He was paler, though he'd always been fair, and his skin was cooler. He fancied himself becoming more serpentine, and the notion wasn't displeasing at all. Perhaps at the end of his current journey his appearance would inspire followers for reasons other than human appreciation for beauty.

A subtle creaking beside him alerted him to the opening of the door. Elena's cobalt gaze met his, then flicked down.

"And the prodigal daughter returns. You weren't at breakfast. It wouldn't do to start a journey on an empty stomach," he said, granting her the full force of his dark eyes. She had the grace to look abashed, fidgeting before him with her face down-turned. "Well? Where is your trunk? I'd expected you to bring it with you."

His suspicions were confirmed when she said in an apologetic tone, "I've decided not to go."

One dark brow rose, his eyes flashing red as he leaned in toward her. "You've decided?" he repeated, voice flat. As she began to tug her bottom lip into her mouth, he laid his hand against her cheek and pulled it between thumb and forefinger. "You seem to be forgetting, pet, that I've already made the decision for you." His grip tightened, one fingernail digging into the wet membrane of her mouth. You will go back to your dormitory and pack immediately. You will meet Nott and I here in half an hour, and we will escort you to the train, where the three of us will share a compartment. You will stay at the Nott home until we visit your parents for their New Years Eve soiree. I organized this entire farce out of the kindness of my heart, and you will not give me cause to regret it. Will you?"

He released her lip at the last word and she ran her tongue over the swollen skin, nodding without breaking eye contact.

"The clock is ticking. Go."

Most young ladies would have been glad to have two handsome gentlemen escort them, but when Elena appeared exactly thirty minutes later, her expression was harried, and she kept relatively silent. Tom would allow her to sulk for the time being, as they still had the journey to Kings Cross before meeting the Nott family.

He secured a compartment for himself and his Knights, Elena tucking herself in beside the window and pointedly staring out of it.

"Who will be meeting us at the station?" Tom asked once they'd all settled in.

"Father will no doubt be busy with something," Nott waffled. "Probably my mother. She's quite affectionate, dotes on me, since, well…"

"Since your father lives up to his name?" Avery suggested.

"What's his name?" The question was soft, spoken just loud enough to hear over the machinations of the train. Tom eyed the witch beside himself, but she gave no further indication that she was mentally present.

Nott licked his lips, cheeks flashing pink as he said, "Cantankerus Nott."

That caused her to turn toward the young man, a startled laugh forced from her mouth. "You're joking. Cantankerus? As in, 'ill-tempered,' 'argumentative?'"

While usually unruffled, Nott's nose scrunched in distaste at her response. "I know what it means, thanks. And no, I'm not joking."

"Theodorus was a step up for your family, then," she said at last.

Tom, mouth half-hidden behind his hand, laughed. It was probably that which kept Nott from producing his wand and hexing the girl for her nerve. Avery was watching him closely, trying to hide the laughing behind his eyes as well.

After a moment of silence, Nott said, "Theodorus of Cyrene happened to be a great Greek arithmancer. I think even Muggles know of his achievements."

Elena tipped her head. "Huh. I shall have to read about him."

"We have some of Plato's translations that mention him, if you'd like to read them," he offered.

The Ravenclaw smiled. "I would like that, thank you. Are you a fan of Grecian philosophers, then?"

"Oh yes. Many of them were wizards, you know. That's been written out of some Muggle histories, since the institution of the Statute of Secrecy. Their contributions were too integral to western culture overall to be completely withdrawn, so they were sterilized for mundane consumption."

She leaned toward him, not noticing that her leg brushed Tom's as she excitedly said, "Why wasn't that taught in History of Magic? Do you think we will go over it this year? Or maybe it was in Muggle Studies. Do you think they mentioned it there?"

The two of them soon became engaged in spirited discussion of the intersections between Muggle and magical history.

Tom watched them. It struck him as he did that Nott was only a Slytherin because of his heritage; the boy was far more suited to Ravenclaw. Nott's sorting had taken far more time than his own, and he wondered if that was why, if the Hat had tried to convince him to take a different house than his father (and Tom had no doubt Canterkerus Nott was a snake).

They kept at it for the duration of the ride, during which Avery fell asleep and Lestrange and Rosier bickered over what to buy off the trolley. Tom himself kept amused between a book charmed to look like one on defense and writing in his diary.

When the train rolled to a stop, Nott startled out of his conversation (currently discussing Muggle herblore and magical use of herbs for potions) and stood, straightening his robes. "It seems we've arrived. Mother mentioned something about a surprise. I, er, forgot until now." His brows twitched as he flicked an apologetic smile at Tom.

Tom raised a brow, but said nothing, deciding instead to assist Elena with retrieving something overhead.

"I could have charmed it down," she murmured.

"No magic aboard the Express, love, not even for those of age." At her scowl, he tapped his badge. "I, and mine, must be above reproach."

The moment they stepped off the train, he charmed her trunk with a levitation spell and floated it and his own alongside him.

Mrs. Nott came out of nowhere. Her hair, of a similar color to Elena's, had curls flying from her careful hairstyle as she enveloped her son in an embrace. She was tall, slim, wearing immaculate and stylish robes. She stroked over her son's face. "Oh, Teddy, sweetheart, it's so good to have you home. How was the journey? How are your studies? Do you feel prepared for your NEWTs?"

"Mother, please," he pleaded, a palm to her shoulder gently pushing her back. "I'm fine, I promise. You're making a scene in front of my—my friends."

She blinked wide, owlish eyes and disengaged herself. "Of course, sweetheart. I'm so sorry for embarrassing you." The woman straightened and smiled at the group of youths around her. Immediately, she turned to Tom and said, "There's no doubt who you must be—Teddy has told me all about you, Mr. Riddle. I'm Ophelia Nott. My husband and I are glad to welcome you into our home for the Yule-season." Her eyes nearly glowed when they lit upon the small figure to his left. "And Elena Vablatsky." She took the girl's small hands in her own. "I hope you and I will be the best of friends. You know, I always wanted a daughter, or a sister, or any women relations really," she confided.

Tom met Nott's gaze beyond the two women, and the other man nodded as though to say they could discuss it later. Lady Nott was far younger than he'd supposed, hardly old enough to have mothered Theodorus. He knew that Pureblood families engaged in arranged marriages, but she must not have even graduated Hogwarts by the time they'd married.

Thoedorus cleared his throat, catching his mother's attention once more. "Ah, right. Come along then, dears. We have a car outside your father sent for the occasion. Mr. Avery, it's always lovely to see you. Send my best to your parents. Mr. Rosier, Mr. Lestrange, I'll see you both at the Yule party, yes?"

Both nodded and bade their fellows good day, and Tom and his cohort left.


	16. Chapter 16

Nott Manor was not the largest ancestral home, from what he understood, but it had plenty enough room for the family and guests. Tom had a room down the hall from Elena's, across from Nott's own. It had a large, comfortable bed with wrought iron framework, There was a musty hint to the black and silver bedding, and the velvety black drapes at the windows, but a wave of his wand dispelled it almost completely. He opened his trunk with a flick and set his belongings to sorting themselves out, wardrobe obediently opening to welcome his robes.

There was a small washroom between his own room and the empty guest room beside his, and he took the liberty of cleaning up before heading down the hall, three sharp knocks delivered to the other guest room.

"Just a moment!" came the soft call, which he ignored, instead cracking the door open to see the girl swirling a long, navy over robe on top of her dress. "I said—" She fell silent as she saw him, instead focusing on buttoning the three bronze buttons at her chest, securing the robes so that they showed a hint of the bodice of her clothes, falling open to reveal the skirts.

"I thought you might appreciate an escort to dinner," he said.

Elena suppressed the irritation that bubbled in her expression. "You could have waited outside."

"I wanted to see your accommodations," he responded, taking in the room as he did.

It was much more recently tended to than his own. There were three windows rather than the one in his—two on one wall, and a larger one on the perpendicular wall. The walls were cream, with delicate ivory scrollwork and violets and peonies blooming all around. The bed, which was white-painted (or charmed) metal, was similarly fanciful in its scrollwork, and the bedding was deep purples and maroons and emeralds, a riot of flowers. There was even a matching cream and pink carpet on the floor, white wardrobe, oval mirror, ivy curtains. On the vanity beside the door was a white teddy bear with a pink satin bow askew between the ears.

Nott hadn't been lying when he said his mother would dote on Elena.

He smiled and held out his arm. "Such a lovely room." Elena's jaw clenched, but she took his arm all the same and allowed him to lead them downstairs to the dining room.

Lady Nott was at one end of the table, while the other was empty (no doubt the place of Lord Nott). Theodorus was seated to the left of his mother, with a woman he didn't recognize beside him. The seats to Lady Nott's right were set, and Tom pulled out a chair for Elena to sit, then slid in between the two of them.

"Now that we're all here," began their hostess, "I'll introduce everyone. Leticia, my son's friends, Mr. Tom Riddle and Miss Elena Vablatsky. Mr. Riddle, Miss Vablatsky, my cousin Leticia Carrow."

The Carrow family was one of the so-called Sacred Twenty-Eight, as they'd been deemed in The Pureblood Directory (rumored to have been written by his host, now that he thought of it). He knew little about them, and less about this specific woman. She was middle-aged, older than Lady Nott, and darker overall in more than just coloring. There was something about her Tom found himself inexplicably drawn to, an aura that said she'd done things.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, madam," he said. She nodded and returned his sentiment.

"And now we can eat." Lady Nott clapped her hands together once and food appeared on their plates.

The courses served in the Nott household were far less plebian than that served at Hogwarts, though similarly rich. While the Muggles were still on rations from the war, the magical community (still fighting the forces of Grindewald) had no such issues. Thus, there was butter for bread and cream for their dessert, everything one could desire for a sumptuous meal.

Ophelia Nott and Leticia Carrow were first cousins once removed, sharing great-grandparents who were also Carrows. They saw each other every few years, as they were one another's closest female relations, but this was the first visit in years. Leticia had spent the last twenty years or so travelling, mostly on the continent.

"You should see Austria this time of year, Ophelia! Ah, the Alps are glorious in the winter," said the woman, the warmth of the candlelight accentuating her auburn hair so that it almost looked like blood cascading over her shoulder.

"Do you spend many holidays there, Madam Carrow?"

She laughed, her eyes bright and cheeks warm from indulging in the red blend on the menu for the dinner. "Please, call me Lettie, or Leticia if you must. I have never been much of one for such formalities among equals, and we are all equals here." She sipped from her wine glass. "And yes, I have spent much time in that region."

"Isn't that hazardous, considering the current political climate?" he asked.

"Not for me." Her smile was mischievous, and he leaned in, considering.

Before he could decide his next question, Ophelia said, "We don't want to hear about your friends, Lettie. It's not polite conversation for the dinner table."

"Oh, but dinner is over, 'Phelia. And surely an intelligent young man like Tom enjoys discussing politics," pouted the redhead. "Right, Tom?"

If he didn't know any better, he would say the woman was flirting with him. She was some three decades older than him, if he had to guess. Wizards lived longer than Muggles, but that was still a considerable age difference. She was attractive, though, and that dark aura was intriguing. He returned her smile, wondering how that red hair would feel in his fist.

"Perhaps another time. I wouldn't want to disrespect our hostess," he said with a nod toward Ophelia. "You will be staying a few days at least?"

"Of course," said Nott. "Leticia here was the surprise."

Her smile was somewhat less dark, less seductive as she turned toward Nott. "Indeed. I had to visit my favorite cousins while in the country."

"Excellent. I'm sure we will have time to talk about politics while you're here."

"How about we move to more mundane topics then," she said playfully. "Tell me about your family, Tom—"

As the last word left Leticia's mouth, Elena pushed her chair out from under the table. "If you'll excuse me, I think the wine went to my head. I should go to bed."

"I'll escort you," Tom said, rising immediately.

Elena opened her mouth, but the flat look in his eyes made her change what she was going to say to, "Good evening, everyone."

"Good evening," they chorused. Tom nodded to them, taking her arm in his, guiding her back the way they'd been.

When they were out of earshot, she said, "I don't like her."

He snickered. "Of course, you don't."

"You do?"

He bared his teeth in response, a truer smile than the charming one he'd use to get his way.

"There's something about her, something dark," Elena murmured, wiping her free hand against her robes as though whatever it was had dirtied her.

Up the narrow stairs, turning right into the hallway.

"I'm dark," he said after a long silence. They stopped outside her door, and he turned her to face him. "Do you not like me?" She pulled her arms tight to her body and stared at his collar, chewing her lip. "Hmm?" He cupped her chin, tilting it up when she didn't respond. "That was a question, sweetheart."

Elena tried to move her head from his grasp, but his hand tightened. "Don't call me that."

"I can call you whatever I want."

She blinked, reading the anger in his expression, and her face grew softer, pleading. "Not that, please."

He stroked his thumb over her skin, considering. When she whispered, "Please," again, he nodded.

"Fine. Now, you still haven't told me how you feel about me. It's rude to ignore a question, Elena."

Her lips parted, her tongue darted out to wet them. "I—" she hesitated, staring up at him. He could feel her pulse speeding up where his fingers brushed against her throat.

"Yes?"

"I hate you, Tom."

Something clenched inside of him and he drew her forward, placing a kiss on her forehead. "I know," he murmured, running a hand down her back. "Goodnight, Elena." He let her go, lips curling as she scurried inside the room without response.


	17. Chapter 17

Elena was not an early riser; in fact, because of her condition, she often had trouble turning off her mind to allow herself true rest, staying asleep, and waking once she was actually asleep. Once, when she was younger, she'd sleepwalked to her desk and had found drawings all over her bedroom wall. The next time, it was on her floor. The third, she'd started writing. That was when she realized what it was.

It was a year after she'd moved in with her mother. While her father had merely shaken his head and helped her clean up the mess (buckets of soapy water, scrub brushes, splashing each other and laughing), the family house elf had banished the jagged writing with a snap of his fingers and asked if little miss had gotten up to mischief in the night.

In retrospect, she was grateful for the being's discretion. Her next was finally on paper, and she could make it out well enough that she finally realized what she'd been doing in her sleep all those instances. And she knew her mother would never let her go if she knew.

Elena had made it a point to hide the rare somnolent activity. It was easier with the papers. But she always woke flushed, heart pounding.

Thus, it was not unusual when she woke that morning to sun streaming through the edges of the curtains, a twisted mess in the sheets. She was soaked in sweat, hair tangled and damp, limp around her as she sat upright. A quick tempus told her it minutes after nine, and she laid back for a moment, trying to slow her breathing, before taking stock of herself. Her hands were clean and there was nothing out of place in her quick scan of the room.

Slowly, Elena forced herself out of bed and made her way to the washroom. She had this to herself, thankfully. She vaguely remembered that Riddle said his was adjoined to another room, but Ophelia had prepared this one especially for Elena. She washed herself in a tepid stream of water, clearing away the perspiration of the night as though she could also cleanse away her nightmares.

The bath soap provided for her was scented warm and slightly sweet, her shampoo of something with a touch of rose to it, and perhaps milk. Elena dwelled on the luxury of the scents as she dressed in a plain grey skirt and white blouse, stockings, clean black shoes, combed her damp hair, and set off down the stairs.

There were voices and the muffled clicking of china. She turned the corner down the stairs, walking through the sitting room and into the dining room.

"Look who has decided to join us at last," came Nott's cultured voice. The other two occupants looked over at her and she paused for a moment and then strode forward to sit at the empty seat beside Nott.

Tom eyed her, brow raised at her choice of seats. "Elena, darling, did you sleep well?"

"Fine, thank you," she said, a slight shake indicating she had nothing for him, since she knew what he was asking.

Ophelia frowned. "You seem to have forgotten your hair, dear." The older woman pulled out her wand. "Do you mind if I…?"

"Erm." She bit her lip and pondered whether it would be impolite to tell her Elena never styled her hair, or did much of anything with it. Instead, she said, "Sure."

Ophelia stood and came around to her chair, pulling Elena's limp hair over the back of the chair. "It's lovely hair," she said, stroking it. "Hmm." After a pause, she flicked her wand and the hair dried. Ophelia ran her hair through the newly dry waves, then murmured something Elena didn't quite hear. "There we are. Lovely." She conjured a silver hand mirror to show the girl.

Elena's hair was now in the soft, smooth curls favored by women now, the front curled back and pinned to one side. It looked strange, and she touched the bottom of one curl to see if it was really her hair. It was out of place, made her look older, like the other seventh years at Hogwarts who wore red lipstick and did their eyelashes.

Ophelia was beaming down at her, so she stammered out, "Thank you."

"It suits you," said Tom, eyes glittering. She was sure he was mocking her, since he knew she put no stock in her appearance (in fact, didn't want to look pretty).

"Yes," agreed Nott. "You should wear it like that more often."

Ophelia took her seat once more and Elena pulled a flakey croissant on her plate and poured herself some pumpkin juice from the pitcher in front of her, which was beaded with condensation. She pulled it apart and smeared a pat of butter over it, the warm insides instantly melting it.

"Speaking of things to wear," said Ophelia, "Would you care to accompany me out on a little shopping trip later, dear? I've always loved shopping, but hate doing it alone."

Elena's gaze flicked to Theodorus Nott, who was smiling into his napkin. "Oh. That would be, erm, nice."

"Wonderful! Oh, you're such a lovely girl. I bet you would look beautiful in jewel tones. Or maybe silver, like tinsel. Or rose." The woman smiled slyly and turned to Tom. "What do you think?"

"Hmm?" He blinked, pulling his gaze away from the copy of The Daily Prophet he was scanning, then surveyed Elena. "Silver isn't a bad choice. Jewel tones? Perhaps emerald, then. Don't you agree, Elena? Silver and green?"

She sighed and rubbed at one of her temples. Today was going to be a long day.

The sun had just set when the two women finally apparated back into the foyer. Ophelia was laughing and holding Elena's hand, their fingers entwined. It had been a long day, but more pleasant than the younger woman had thought possible, considering her past shopping trips with her own mother.

Ophelia was indeed young; she'd gotten pregnant during a holiday break her sixth year, and had been privately tutored her seventh year in lieu of returning to Hogwarts. She had just turned thirty-three, she proudly told Elena when they stopped for a light lunch.

The woman was chatty, but kind. Elena gathered that her husband was usually absent, much older, and gruff, if not abusive. His wife handled all of the domestic affairs, did charity work, socialized; Lord Nott took care of all the political happenings (what little the Notts involved themselves in).

They'd stopped by more wizarding shops than Elena had known existed. Madam Malkins was first, of course, where she and Ophelia had been fitted for day robes, a travelling cloak, casual clothes for informal luncheons. Ophelia had insisted on purchasing so much that the girl felt as though she had an entirely new wardrobe ("You're a lovely young lady, Elle, you should dress it"), though it wasn't nearly so bad as when they stopped by Twilfitt and Tattings, whereupon the older women had insisted they both needed a few new formal robes for the upcoming season, and had foisted things Elena was sure she would never wear, including two evening gowns (one for the Malfoy soiree and one for her family's).

It was then they'd stopped for finger sandwiches and tea, before continuing to Madam Primpernelle's Beautifying Potions for an assortment of potions, lotions, and powders she was sure no one actually needed. For some reason, Ophelia felt the need of a cream to reduce the impact of aging, though the witch was hardly into her third decade, and witches often lived twice as long as muggles.

They'd stopped by a jewelry vendor, and picked through an antique shop for little pieces Ophelia said were an important part of every woman's wardrobe, before finally stopping at the sweet shop, because, "every shopping trip with the girls should include a little treat."

They'd also visited two separate bookshops, as it turned out Nott's love of reading was shared by his mother. She had picked out a few books, including one called Grey Magic: Where Dark and Light Intersect. She had also found a magical bookmark that remembered its placement in any book the reader had set it. It was silver, a whirl of feathers.

Had it not been for shrinking spells so all of the little bags and boxes could be tucked away, Elena was sure both women would have fallen over at the weight of their purchases. She nearly fell anyway, and only Ophelia wrapping an arm around her waist kept her upright. They teetered for a second, righted, then both burst into laughter.

"I don't know about you, but I could do with some tea after all that running around," Ophelia said as they calmed down and she pulled off her winter cloak and outer robe. Elena nodded and did the same, handing both, along with the packages inside, to a house elf that appeared quite suddenly.

"Tippy, unshrink Miss Elena's shopping parcels and place them in her room; please do the same with mine. Oh, and have Cookie send tea to the parlor."

The elf, whose ears trailed against frail shoulders, nodded and said, "Yes, Mistress," before popping out of sight with her burdens.

Once more, Ophelia wound her arm with the girl's and lead the way. They stepped through the hall, to the parlor entrance, and froze.

Tom and Leticia Carrow were sitting at the little table, so close their legs were brushing. They were murmuring amongst themselves despite being alone. At the two women's entrance, both fell silent and looked up.

"Welcome home, 'Phelia," said Leticia in a tone so overly warm that it instantly put Elena on edge. Tom was unruffled, but he would be.

The girl pulled back as the redhead kissed her cousin's cheek. When the tall woman turned to her, a hand cupping her cheek, she suddenly felt crowded.

"And little Miss Vablatsky, welcome back."

She had missed something. She was sure of it. Even Ophelia looked wary.

"You know, I'm tired. I think I should lie down."

She hastily escaped from the too-small parlor and the woman who'd watched her as though she were a fly.


	18. Chapter 18

Tom studied himself in the mirror, running a comb through his immaculate curls once more, straightening the already-neat lapels of his dress robes. He cut a rather fine figure, he knew, but there was a reason his appearance was always beyond reproach; he checked and re-checked. His robes were mostly true black, from the crisp, button-down shirt and down to the laces on his polished boots. The vest was just on the black side of charcoal, a black silk tie, black outer-robe jacket. The only true exceptions were the silver snake tie clip (a la Slughorn, who said every gentleman needed one), the deep emerald lapels, and the emerald and silver cufflinks (an early Christmas present from Nott). He tapped his lips, eyes skimming himself, then flicked his wand.

"Accio silver handkerchief." He folded it deftly and tucked it in the little pocket meant for just that. There, now he was ready.

He stepped through to his bedroom, gaze sweeping across to make sure there was nothing out of place. His diary was tucked away and warded, everything in its place. Upon finishing, he went into the hall to await Theodorus. Surprisingly, the other young man came out immediately.

"I was just waiting for the sound of your door," he admitted. "Shall we go downstairs?"

Nott wore a dark blue shirt, black tie, black vest, black robe and slacks. The blue made his eyes stand out, Tom supposed.

"Shouldn't we wait for Elena?" he asked.

"Nah. My mother is with her, and they'll take forever to prepare. We're best waiting comfortably," Nott said. He then examined Tom, nodding. "You look like the quintessential Slytherin."

They began the walk to the parlor. "I am the quintessential Slytherin," he responded. After a beat, he said, "Abraxas Malfoy is now master of the manor, correct?"

"Yes," Nott nodded. "He's quite young for it; his father died a few years after he graduated from Hogwarts, and his mother returned to France shortly thereafter. He's about mother's age, I believe, maybe a few years younger. She was a Ravenclaw, and they were never particularly close, but they knew one another at Hogwarts."

Tom thought on that as he slipped into the chair in the little parlor reading nook. It was high-backed, with deep blue cushioning velvet. "Is there a Lady Malfoy?"

"No. Brax rather likes being Britain's most eligible wizarding bachelor. He will have to sire an heir at some point, but I've even heard rumors he would be willing to legitimize a bastard rather than marry." Theodorus studied him for a moment. "Are you going to induct him to the Knights? He holds our views, and has more political influence than most of us."

Tom steepled his hands, elbows resting on the scrolled wooden arms of the chair. "Perhaps. You've not told him much, have you?"

Nott started. "No, of course not. I'd never without your, erm, permission. No, I've merely mentioned you lead a group that discusses politics at the school, and many young men of good breeding admire and respect you."

"Good. Perhaps you should speak with him a little more about it tonight. I will allow him to initiate questions about my lineage, should he be… discrete."

Nott nodded and the two lapsed into silence. Tom was considering his recent political endeavors. Miss Carrow— Leticia— had been enlightening. She apparently associated with Gellert Grindewald, and was an adamant supporter of all things anti-muggle. That could be useful to him, considering Grindewald's current situation. Governments were doing well in the fight against him, and his hold even over his home country was weakening. He'd retreated within safe territory. Tom was sure it was a matter of time before someone took out the dark wizard. That would leave a power vacuum; the perfect place for Lord Voldemort to begin his rise.

The followers of Grindewald, bereft their leader, would be ripe for plucking. Given his conversations with Leticia, he could almost certainly count the Carrows as his. After tonight, perhaps he could add the Malfoy family.

The click of heels on wooden floor alerted the young men before the two women entered the room. Ophelia matched her son in a glorious satin navy gown with black velvet designs, hair pinned in a wide, low bun. Her makeup was only a touch more dramatic than her usual, eyelashes enhanced to be darker, longer, thicker, lips a deep burgundy. She looked every inch the ripe (rather than 'middle aged,' 'matronly,' or any other term one expected of the Lady of the House) flower in full bloom.

Theodorus smiled at her, kissed her cheek as she kissed the air beside him, and took her arm. "Mother, you are stunning. We will have to get a picture to memorialize this beauty." He pulled her into the room so Elena could venture in, mostly hidden as she was by both doorframe and the taller woman in her full ballgown.

The girl was clearly uncomfortable, and she had Ophelia's influence written in every part of her appearance. He smirked as she moved into sight, draped in silvery cloth.

Her hair was pulled up in tight curls so it looked something like an updo that stayed on its own. It was probably far more complicated than it looked, like most women's hair. That she had makeup on at all was strange. Her lips were scarlet, eyes appeared even larger and bluer thanks to the black catliner cutting across each eyelid, brows darkened and shaped with more of an arch. His eyes drifted to her décolletage, the length of neck and her shoulders bare. He was almost surprised she had cleavage. The slightest hint showed, but it was there nonetheless. Moreover, she had curves, the gown tucked in at her waist and fitted past the hips, to fall in a silver pool at her train. The straps of her gown were wide where they cut across her pale arms, and her shoes were velvety emerald where they peeked out as she stepped.

"My, you do clean up well," he said at last, eyes lingering on the emerald drop earrings hovering near her jawline. It was a lovely touch, and she complemented him perfectly. "You have my thanks, Ophelia. I never expect the little mouse to become a swan."

Elena's heavy lashes darkened her glare, though she blinked it off quickly.

"I had a lovely canvas to work with; style is meant to enhance, not create, beauty." The older woman handed Elena a plush winter cloak, black with fur trim, silver lining, and pulled her own deep cerulean cloak on. "Shall we?"

Tom peered behind them, then asked, "Should we not wait for Leticia?"

"Oh, Morrigan, no!" Ophelia said. "She decided to get ready elsewhere, and who knows when she will arrive. My guess is she will come unfashionably late and three sheets to the wind."

He held out his arm and Elena eyed it before glancing up at him. He arched a brow, and she quickly looked away, slipping her hand on his bicep, just above the crook of his elbow. She was being rather lady-like while dressed the part, he noted.

"We'll be apparating to just outside the gates of Malfoy Manor," Ophelia told them. "It's really quite the lovely little walk." For the side along, the two gentlemen swapped the ladies on their arms, as neither Tom nor Elena had been to Malfoy Manor.

There was the slight squeezing, then they appeared at their destination.

Malfoy Manor was impressive, he had to admit as Elena once again took her place at his side. The manor had shrubbery covered in snow, a blanket of pure white gracing spiral and conical bushes and trees, neat hedges lining the drive and walkway. The group made its way up toward the manor itself, passing ice sculptures in the shapes of unicorns and selkies and other beasts, and frozen fountains whose water was caught midmotion. There were lights darting about the trees, casting glittering refractions from the ice. Between that, the stars overhead, and the glittering quarter moon overhead as the sun had just finished sinking below the horizon, the evening was alight with winter wonder.

There were pairs and small groups of people walking ahead of them and, by the time they reached the doors, behind them. The doors swung out as they approached, beckoning them into the entrance hall, which was just as rich as the outside suggested. There was a thick carpet on the floor, portraits of pale aristocrats on the walls, and a hook and table where they were directed to place their cloaks and anything they had need to put away during the party. As soon as everything was set, it vanished ("To the closet; just say your name when you need it back," Nott told them).

They then continued on to the manor proper, and the party.

There was a table laden with a holiday feast, roasted birds from pheasant to duck, quail, Cornish hen. There were more puddings that Tom had known existed, cakes, eggs, in a multitude of ways, roasts, pies, creams, pork, fish, prawns. Everything was hot and steaming or cool depending on the dish. There was also a bar with a list of drinks a mile long.

In one corner was a string quartet playing some unfamiliar tune, while at the bar a house elf snapped his fingers to summon glasses. There was an ice sculpture of a mermaid that moved, flirting with a flip of her tail and a puckered kiss.

Voices called out among the milling upper class, and Nott and Ophelia both smiled and waved at those they knew. "Ah," Theodorus said after a moment. "There's our host, Tom. Come, I'll make introductions,"

Elena moved to pull her hand from his arm, put Tom laid his free hand over hers and clenched her fingers in warning. Ophelia was still with her son; Elena could bear this as well.

"Ophelia Nott!" Abraxas Malfoy was a tall man in his late twenties, not quite as tall as Tom, but tall enough that he knew he stood out. His long, white hair spread over his shoulders, dark brows somehow not out of place over quicksilver eyes. He was a fair man, in grey dress robes, ice blue vest, pale shirt, silver cravat. He looked positively icy, though the smile he graced the Notts with was warm. Ophelia kissed the air near his face and his lips just brushed her cheek. "You look more beautiful every year." She returned his smile coyly, a hand smoothing over his arm, before he turned to the younger man. "And Theodorus, you've grown. You must be in your last year by now, yes?"

"Indeed, Abraxas. I'm preparing for my NEWTs and decided where I'll be this time next year."

"Well, you always have a place in my business," he said.

"Speaking of Hogwarts, I have someone I'd like you to meet." Tom stepped forward at that cue, Elena reluctantly staying at his side, almost tripping over the kitten heel of her shoe. "Abraxas, this is Tom Riddle. He is the current Head Boy, and the most brilliant student Hogwarts has had, well, perhaps ever!" Turning to Tom, he said, "And Tom, this is Lord Abraxas Malfoy; I'm sure his reputation precedes him."

Abraxas chuckled at that, looking Tom over and offering his hand. "Dressed like that, I can only assume you're a Slytherin?"

"Of course; it is the only house suited for me," he said with a nod. He noted that Abraxas Malfoy had a firm handshake, but hadn't tried any aggressive squeezing or domineering movement. He was confident in himself, and seemed genuinely glad to meet a fellow Slytherin.

And then Malfoy's eyes lit on the small figure beside him. "And who is this petite poupette?"

Before Theodorus could rectify his mistake, Tom cut in. "This is Elena Vablatsky, a fellow Hogwarts seventh year." He slid his hand down her back, laying it against the lower dip and urging her a touch forward. "Don't be shy, darling."

Malfoy took her hand in his and laid a soft kiss on the knuckles. "A pleasure to meet you, mademoiselle."

"Thank you," she murmured. "Likewise, my lord. Though I am hardly a doll, little or otherwise."

Rather than be offended at her refusal of his compliment, Abraxas laughed, cheeks tinged pink with mirth.

"On the contrary, dear. Did Ophelia not dress you up to make you presentable tonight?" Tom reminded her as his fingers inched their way to the curve her waist, pulling her just a touch closer to him. The pale man's eyes flicked down to where Tom's fingers were splayed, to Elena's stiffened shoulders, a hint of laughter remaining in his gaze.

"Yes, well." The girl did not know what to say to that. He saw as she started to pull her lower lip into her mouth, her brows furrowing as she remembered her lipstick, something like a pout adorning her mouth instead. It was oddly gratifying, and made her red lips even more appealing. By the glimmer in Abraxas Malfoy's eyes, he agreed.

"Did I upset you?" he said, a hand tilting her face up to him. "How about I get us drinks? Will you forgive me then?"

It amused him to see her squirm. The dress bound her tightly enough that shouldn't shrink into herself, and the makeup on her face clearly made her uncertain in her self-expression, lest she mess it up. He prodded gently with his mind and saw that she indeed felt like she was wearing a stranger's face and clothing for the evening, and had no idea how to handle herself. He bared his teeth in a decidedly predatory smile and her gaze flicked down to tie as she nodded.

"Very well. I shall return shortly," he told his companions, shooting a particularly meaningful look to Nott.

He made his way through the steadily growing crowd, sidling up to the bar. There were two wizards and a witch in front of him to order, though the latter seemed more interested in presenting a lovely set of breasts on the bar to catch attention than in something to drink. One of the wizards brought her a drink, apparently knowing her well enough that she was distracted by talk about common acquaintances.

"A glass of spiced mead, and Blishen's Firewhisky," he told the elf when it was his order. The elf snapped with both fingers and two glasses appeared. A flick of both hands, and two bottles rose, pouring streams into the glasses. When they were filled, he took both and slowly made his way back. Ophelia had turned into another group, gossiping with another woman who looked a bit older. Elena was still trapped between Malfoy and Nott. Occasionally, the older man's regard drifted toward her, and he'd say something, to which she would murmur demurely in return.

He hooked around the group, the back of his fingers stroking against Elena's shoulder as he held her glass in front of her. She took it, sipping, as his hand drifted to her back again. "Mead?" she questioned.

"It's a holiday, Elena," he replied, swirling his glass of whisky before observing Malfoy, who was returning his regard.

Abraxas glanced around them, twitched his wand, and the sound around them muffled just a touch. Tom raised a brow, but the man smiled before saying, "Theodorus has told me some interesting things about you, Tom. I would like to know how true some of those are."

Tom took a swig of his drink, swallowing down the sweet fire as he considered. "I like to think I live up to my reputation."

"I hear a rumor related to something that happened a few years back, that you are… singularly gifted via your heritage."

Tom's lips curled, and he decided to take a small gamble. "You mean that I am a parselmouth?"

The other man's eyes widened before he got his expression under control. "Indeed? It's said Slytherin himself was one."

"Yes," was all he said in response.

Abraxas nodded. "We should talk again before you go back to Hogwarts. We can have a gentlemen's evening." His eye went to Elena. "Though I would not complain if Miss Vablatsky joined some time. I assume she is among your associates?"

"You could say that." His face was cold now, the barren look that meant his Knights should venture carefully.

Abraxas looked between the two of them, then dispelled whatever he'd cast. "Please, enjoy your evening." He walked away and within moments was called into another conversation with a pair of buxom sisters.

Nott ogled the women approvingly. "He does have a way with women."

"Good looks and power will do that," he said. "Shall we, doll?" Tom gestured toward the rest of the party, leading them into the fray.


	19. Chapter 19

The rest of the Longest Night had passed without much intrigue. Tom had spoken with some ministry department heads, some of whom he knew from Slughorn's little get-togethers. He'd allowed Elena to wander for a time, and she'd taken advantage of the opportunity to go into the cold night and observe a light show above a frozen lake. He had done his fair share of flirting with Leticia when she finally traipsed in, resplendent in blood red.

It was now Christmas evening. The day had started cold and dismal outside, but with the wafting scents of rich food in the making at the Nott house. He'd had gifts from his Knights and, surprisingly, a book from his little prophetess. The subject matter was actually interesting, on the intersection of light and dark magics.

She'd had one from her father, one from Nott, one (surprisingly) from Avery, and one from himself. The latter three had given her books. Her father had sent an album of wizarding pictures his sister had left him upon her death, mostly of family and her friends from Hogwarts. It was a sentimental gift, and her reaction was in that vein.

The household had spent the afternoon immersed in their new books until it was time for Christmas dinner. He finished washing his hands in his bathroom, and went down to the dining room.

There he met a rather unusual sight. At the head of the table was Cantankerus Nott, a surly faced man who looked almost twice his wife's age. Tom greeted him and slid into his usual seat near Ophelia, across from Nott the younger. There was a skipped space at the table, and then sat Leticia, who had been absent for the morning. Elena was the last to come to the table, and Tom stood to move out her chair for her.

"You look lovely, doll," he told her as she sat. She was in red, velvety dress. No doubt it was something Ophelia had bought her, just as his blue sweater was.

Her "thank you" was lacking grace, but he responded with a warm, "You're welcome."

Since the evening at Malfoy Manor, he'd liked calling her that term of endearment. It was fitting for the little seer whose strings he'd taken over.

"My Lord," said the woman of the house, "would you do the honors?" The gaze she directed at him spoke of a fondness Tom could not understand, especially as the gruff man did not express the same. But he grumbled out for their meal to begin, and they did.

Cantankerus Nott spoke little, but seemed not to mind that others did. Nott drank eggnog with vigor, and Leticia encouraged his rowdiness, going so far as to wink at Tom when she poured a touch more alcohol in the boy's drink. She kept most of Lord Nott's attention to herself, and Tom realized the man was looking at her cleavage as often as not. Perhaps that was the source of his reticence for the evening. Neither the younger Nott, nor his wife seemed to notice.

"Here, Tom, pull a cracker with me!" He waved the brightly wrapped item across the table, and Tom reluctantly took the other side in hand. When it (expectedly) exploded in a puff of blue smoke, Tom felt something fly over his hand, and heard several similar objects hitting the table.

"Lucky pull," said Nott, eyeing the chess board that had appeared.

"Care for a game?"

They moved to the parlor, and Elena trailed in moments later, one of her new books pressed to her chest. She watched them play between paragraphs of her book. Tom teased out the game, more interested in seeing Nott's strategy than winning for the time being. He leaned his head on his propped up hand and scrutinized the way his Knight's eyes darted around the board as he considered his moves.

Nott muttered, "Fuck," when a sudden tapping came at the window.

Elena jumped from her seat and opened the window, allowing in a stately black owl. It dropped a letter in front of the girl, who was gazing at it with disdain. "Thank you, Alexander," she said, patting the owl. It hooted, then swooped back out.

"From your mother?" Tom hazarded a guess. She nodded and sat back down. "What does it say?"

She opened it, chewing on her lip as she scanned the contents. Her eyes grew darker, and she folded it up, setting it aside.

"Well?"

"She wants us to stay a few nights, is trying to guilt me."

"Would it be so terrible?"

Her answering scowl almost made him laugh. "I will be there with you the whole time, doll," he reminded. Something flickered over her face, a quick furrowing of the brow, worry in her eyes, before she took and a breath and set herself to a neutral expression. She nodded.

"What is it?"

The girl was staring down at the folded letter. "Nothing."

Tom waved to Nott, who read the dismissal and shut the door behind himself. He stood, then walked to her and knelt so that he was staring straight into her face. "You have been avoiding telling me whatever this is, and I have allowed it, since it was irrelevant." He cupped her chin, tipped her face up, but her eyes stayed stubbornly downcast. "You are worried about me spending time with your family, being there. Why?" She tried to move her head out of his grasp, but he tightened his hand. "You will tell me, Elena. We will be there in days. I will find out eventually anyway, but I will be highly disappointed if you do not obey me."

Her eyes met his for just a moment and he read her resolve in them. "I'll gladly take your disappointment, thanks," she spat.

A surge of hot anger roared through his chest and his empty hand suddenly held his wand, which trailed her face from temple to jaw. "I can take it from you."

Her jaw clenched. "It didn't work too well last time. Are you ready to fail again?"

His fingernails had to be digging into her skin now, but she was still in front of him. "You will regret this." He flicked his wand and ropes wound around her torso and the chair. Her eyes widened as she realized what he'd done. Elena bucked against the ropes, trying to tear herself from him, but his hand moved to the back of her head, tangling in her charmed curls. "Legilimens." He fell into her eyes, into her mind, far enough she couldn't easily push him out, and he stumbled into a memory.

Notes:

NEXT CHAPTER WILL BE DARK.


	20. Chapter 20

Notes:

There's nothing *too* graphic in this, I think. However, it is still potentially triggering. You can skip everything italicized if you want to see Tom's reactions to the memories, or you can skip to the end and read the paragraph there. You can also just skip this chapter. Summary at the end as well, if you'd prefer to read that (first or instead).

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

She was young, small, still with some of the softness children have around when they start primary. Her legs were kicking in the air as she sat patiently. Her father was at the door speaking to someone— two someones. She stared down at her blue patterned dress, listening.

"We'd like to meet her at least," said an accented voice. It was a man.

The woman said, "We've come all the way from Poland, Jack. You said you were sick. We should meet her before things progress." She had an accent too, but hers was easier to understand; Elena had heard it before in town.

He da sighed, his frail shoulders shrugging with the sound. Da had never been a big man compared to others, but he was larger than life to her. Lately, he'd become thinner, enough even she had noticed. "I thought you were divorcing her. Why do you want to meet Ella?"

"I wanted a child. Perhaps this child will do."

After another sigh, he stepped back and waved them in.

"Ella-bell," he said, running a hand through his greying strawberry blond hair, "There are some people I would like you to meet." He gestured to the two newcomers. "This is Missus Cassandra Vablatsky, and Mister Aurek Vablatsky."

She chewed at her lips, pulling the entire bottom inside, dragging her teeth across it until it popped out. "My mum's named Cassandra," she murmured.

The woman was beautiful. She was as tall as da, with raven-wing hair and raven-wing eyes. The man was beautiful too, though he was taller and had wider shoulders than her da. He was a big man. His hair was light, more like hers. His eyes were bright, too. He looked her over and a smile stretched over his face.

"Yes, darling," said the woman. "That's who I am."

"Oh." She blinked and looked between the two Vablatskys. "Is he your brother?" She didn't know much, but she knew siblings shared the same last name, unless they had different das, like the family down the way.

The pair laughed. "No, sweetheart," came the man's deep voice. He knelt down to her level. "I'm her husband, your step-father."

Her pale brows furrowed, but she nodded at the explanation. "Have you come to live with us?"

They laughed again. "No, we'd like you to come live with us, actually."

Tom pulled out of that memory. He could hear Elena's mind screaming at him, telling him he had no right to these memories. He pushed aside her voice and dove deeper.

She was wearing something frilly. That was her entire wardrobe now, frilly dresses and pretty things. Ribbons for her hair, shiny shoes. She hated it. She felt like she was always dressed for church, and they yelled at her if she ruined anything. She had no play clothes.

It was getting late, and she was putting her toys away. The door creaked open. "Hello, mausi," came the deep voice behind her. She froze, and big hands lifted her, cradled her against his chest. "Are you ready for bed? I see all of your toys are away."

"Yes," she said, squirming slightly to get comfortable.

"Daddy has come to help you get ready, sweetheart."

She frowned. "But you're not my da."

"Mausi, that's hurtful," he said. He set her on her bed and stroked her cheek. "I'm your father, too. I would like you to call me daddy. Or papa. Can you do that for me? We are helping your da, after all, aren't we? That's what family does. And I'm family."

"Okay," she said after moment. They were giving her da potions. Mother and Aurek—daddy—were magical. They had all sorts of things muggles like her da couldn't get.

"Okay, what?" he prompted.

"Okay, daddy," she said.

"That's my good little mausi." His thumb ran across her lips and he suddenly leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to them. "Now, how about we change you into your pajamas?"

"I can change myself," Elena insisted. "I'm big enough."

He shook his head, golden curls falling into his face. "Now, sweetheart, let daddy help you. It will take you longer on your own."

"But I can—"

"No," he said firmly. He knelt and tugged off her shoes, her socks, rubbing her small legs before he finally tugged at her dress. Obediently, she raised her arms. When his hands went to her last piece of clothing, she frowned again.

"Everything?"

"Yes, mausi, everything."

When she was stripped, he considered her intently. She wondered if he was looking for something wrong. He made her stand up and turn around too, before he finally pulled new underwear and a night gown out for her.

"There you are, sweetheart." Before he left her room for the night, he kissed her once more, and she thought she felt something wet against her lips.

She was thrashing in her bonds now, and a part of him still able to see her face noted the tears streaking down her face as she begged him to stop. He kept on.

There were baths, where his hands would scrub every inch of her. She was too little for more, he said. He was only teaching her.

Tom saw her under the bed the year before she started Hogwarts. She was hiding while he searched her room, and she was praying to God, Merlin, anyone, that he wouldn't find her.

She felt his mouth on hers, his hands wandering with some excuse or another— tickling, bathing, helping her with something— over and over and over again. Years of little moments, years of her mother looking the other way.

Tom sped through in his perusal, skipping through these horrendous moments, until he came to her the summer after she had outed herself as a seer.

She was sitting at a table in a garden, alone with the golden-haired man. He laid his hand on her knee, over the floral skirt with its petticoats that made her feel much younger than her age.

"You're growing so fast, mausi," he said. She stared at her teacup as his thumb stroked her thigh through the material. "In March, you will be of age, yes? A part of me misses when you were just a tiny little girl. But a part of me," his voice dropped and he laid his head against her neck, nose brushing it. "A part of me is glad to see you become a woman. There are so many things for you to learn, little mausi. Perhaps… perhaps I will give you a taste for Christmas, yes?"

She quaked, tears spilling down her cheeks, cold from her trying to keep them inside.

"You are so beautiful, my girl."

Tom pulled out of her mind at last and vanished the ropes, still staring at her. The whites of her eyes were red, the irises a brighter blue than he'd ever seen in contrast. There were tears and snot on her face. His hand was now holding her neck, rather than grasping her hair. She was shaking.

She blinked those bright eyes, realizing she was free, and pushed away from him, darting out the door and out of sight.

Notes:

The first memory is fairly wholesome; it's Elena and her da (she's maybe five). Cassandra and Aurek come to meet her.

Second memory is Aurek changing her, which gets a bit squicky. He kisses her on the lips (she's about five still).

There are some flashes of events over the years, then one before the start of the current school year, where Aurek talks about wanting to take things further.

On another note, the ideas for my next FF is evolving in about twenty different directions. I have too many ideas. It may be even darker than this one, though.


	21. Chapter 21

If it's any consolation, the last chapter was hard for me to write. Part of the reason I wrote it the way I did, rather than go more in-depth. (I am, myself, a survivor of certain abuses as both a child and an adult; I tried to write it with that in mind).

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Tom gave her time to calm down, thinking. He supposed it shouldn't have surprised him, given the times she had sneered at Aurek Vablatsky's name, her insisted distance from the man, her odd reactions to affection and certain pet names, the first memory he'd seen of hers months ago. It all fit together.

He was strangely calm, having just learned someone who belonged to him was being abused in such a way. There were few acts which Tom found truly depraved, depths of evil to which he would not descend. What had happened to Elena throughout her childhood was one. Magical children were a treasure to be molded, not receptacles for a deviant's pleasure.

Leaving magical children to starve in orphanages, abusing them… these were all wrong.

Something dripped down his hand and he looked down. He'd apparently clenched his hand so hard blood had started to leak from it. He waved his wand then stood and walked out of the parlor. He smiled at the Notts and Leticia, bade them goodnight, and went upstairs.

He listened at her door for a moment, wondering if he could make out soft sobs, or if he was mishearing the wind outside in the eaves. From what he'd seen of her in the past, Elena was quiet in her pain. Tom slowly swung the door open and he could see her back turned toward him from she lay on the bed. She stiffened.

"Get out," Elena's voice rasped.

The door closed behind him and he sat on the bed, laid a hand on her shoulder, turned her toward him. Her face was dry now, though he could see the tracks from her tears. She stared past him.

"I don't allow others to touch what's mine," he said.

A bitter laugh choked its way from her throat. "Are you going to punish me for it, then?"

"No. I'm going to stop it from happening."

She hesitantly inspected his expression. "Why?"

He arched his brow. "I told you. You are mine, and no one touches what is mine. What that— man— did…" Tom's nostrils flared as he sucked in air. "There are things even I find distasteful, Elena." His hand stroked over her salty cheek. "That is one of them. When I am done with him, Aurek Vablatsky will never think of touching a child again. He will certainly know better than to touch you."

"Oh."

"I would kill him, but," he watched as panic set in, then said, "that might risk your deal with them. I know you do not want that."

Elena swallowed, nodded. She laid there like that for a while, and he sat beside her, idly petting her cheek, her neck, her soft hair. Her breathing deepened, her eyelids growing heavier and fluttering until they shut completely. Tom watched her as she drifted, her face at peace, then gently removed himself from beside her. As he neared the door, her soft voice said, "Thank you."

To anyone who did not know Tom Riddle, they might think he cared for the small young woman he'd collected. He was attentive during the few days before they would leave to her family home. He woke her for breakfast if she slept too late, encouraged her to rest, to eat regular meals.

When she trudged downstairs on her own the morning they were due to leave, he raised a brow and said, "Sleeping beauty awakens, and graces us with her presence." He stood and pulled out a chair for her. "Good morning, pet."

"Good morning," Elena responded primly, reaching toward the water pitcher. Tom got there first, filling her glass. She rubbed at her temple, but murmured, "Thank you," lest he dislike her lack of manners. Tom was unfailingly polite, and expected his followers to be the same.

"You're welcome," he said, sitting back in his seat. "I hope you have an appetite this morning. Breakfast is especially important when one plans to dance away to the small hours of the morning."

Her smile seemed more of a grimace, but she pulled a croissant, poached eggs, and an apple onto her plate. He watched as she put a pat of butter on her plate, tore her croissant apart, and then seemed to think better of it. Her hands shuffled back to her lap and she cleared her throat, facing him. "Before I forget, happy birthday, Tom."

Ah, that was the reason for her early rise. "How thoughtful. Thank you, Elena." He watched her eat, sipping at his tea as she picked at her food. "What will you do with your day before we head out?"

She shrugged. "I was thinking of reading. Teddy found a book he thought I would enjoy in the Nott library."

He nodded his approval. "You should do so in the parlor. Theodorus and I will be playing chess, perhaps indulging in a game of gobstones."

She nodded to that, finishing her meal. Upon that, she went back upstairs.

By the time the girl rejoined them, Tom and Nott were on their second game. The radio was on, a smooth woman's voice crooning through the air. She settled in the corner armchair, a book on her lap and a silver wrapped parcel on top of that. He looked her over, surprised to see that she had taken care with her appearance today; she wore a pale blue dress that skimmed over her knees, her hair styled, even a few makeup charms cast on her face.

She squirmed under his attentions, then stood and laid the book on her seat. "Er, this is for you." Elena held out the small package, which he took without moving his eyes off her. He pulled the wrapping off, taking pleasure in the dry rip of the packaging.

"A bookmark?" he said.

"It— it's magical." She fetched her book to demonstrate. "See, you place it where you want it to remember and just tap the center of the feather swirls with your wand." Elena did just that after she'd set the bookmark at page fifty. "You can use it for any book, and it will remember them all." She pulled it out, laid it beside the book, and it slid back into the pages. "When you want it to forget one, you just tap it against the spine, and say, 'reset.'" After showing that feature, she handed the flat silver piece back to him.

Tom stroked his finger over the delicately etched feathering. "Thank you, doll. It's lovely. I'm sure it will get plenty of use." He smiled up at her, took one of her hands in his, and placed a chaste kiss across the back of it, then returned his attention to the board.

He won two of the three games of chess, losing the second as he decided to change tactics. Nott tried to convince him to play gobstones, but Tom curled his lip at that. "It's too messy for the moment. I would rather not scrub ink off myself." Scourgify did not have much of an impact on the ink from the game, as Tom had found out in his second year.

"You have hours yet before you leave," Nott intoned.

Tom raised his brow and the other young man dropped it.

Some time during afternoon tea service, Elena caught his attention once more. She'd been curled up in her chair reading, silent and nearly forgotten since she'd given Tom the gift. When the song changed on the radio, she suddenly sighed, and he studied her. Her eyes drifted shut, the book's pages ruffling closed on her lap. As she listened, her left hand curled in its place on the arm of the chair, fingers slowly moving along, one of her feet tapping along to the timing of the song.

He considered for a moment as her tongue slipped to touch her upper lip, mouth open, right hand making smooth little motions, brows furrowed. Her father— the real one— was a violinist, she'd told him once. It seemed he'd imparted some of the skill to his daughter, based on her reaction to the haunting tune hanging around them.

"You play?" he said as the song came to a close and she sighed once more, sinking back into the cushion.

"A little. My da taught me a bit, and lets me practice on his violin when I'm home."

"I'm surprised your mother doesn't have you play," he said. It was the sort of gift pureblood society wives liked to show off. All their daughters embroidered or tatted lace, wrote poetry, rode horseback.

She swallowed and shook her head. "Her husband doesn't like when I play. He had me take singing lessons instead."

"You sing, then?"

Her laugh was sharp, bitter. "I can; I don't."

"Humor me," he said, flicking his wand toward the radio to lower its volume. "Sing something."

Elena straightened in her seat, shoulders rigid, face turned toward the window. "I'd rather not."

His voice hardened. "That was not a request." A smile curling at his lips, he added, "Besides, it's my birthday."

Elena stroked at her neat hair as though it needed to be brushed back. "I already gave you a present." Her eyes flicked to him and his steely resolve, and her body loosened in acquiescence. Tom's smile grew and he sat back, turning his chair to face her as she prepared.

After a hesitation wherein she chewed at her lip in thought, then cleared her throat, she began to sing what he believed was a muggle song, though the Latin in it made it fit enough for a wizarding palate. Her voice was clear, melodic, and surprisingly rich in her mouth. There was something arching to her pronunciation.

"Benedicta tu in mulieribus,

Et benedictus,

Et benedictus fructus ventris,

Ventris tuae, Jesus,

Ave Maria…"

There were moments wherein her voice warbled uncertainly, and it was obvious she was uncomfortable with their attention. She had a pretty voice, the sort of voice he imagined most girls would preen at and show off, though there were moments of hesitation in her tune. As she drifted to a close, her hands, which had been fisted together, fell into her lap.

"Brava, doll," he said, as Theodorus joined him in clapping. "That was lovely. Thank you for sharing with me."

Her cheeks reddened beneath the slight layer of makeup. "Of course, Tom," she murmured. It sounded as though her throat were trying to close now that she'd finished her song.

"What was that? It's quite lovely," asked Theodorus. "Is it muggle?"

"Yes, I believe it's from Schubert," said Tom. "Ave Maria, about the mother of their Christ child."

Elena nodded. "It's one of my da's favorites."

"I can see why," Nott said. "Schubert, you said? I'm not familiar with many muggle composers, but perhaps I should look him up."

"Music is one of the few things muggles do well," Tom conceded. "Perhaps because it is the closest they can come to true magic. There are quite a few muggle musicians you may like. I can introduce them to you over time?"

"Thank you, Tom."

They continued discussing music as Elena fell silent once more. He observed her from his peripheral, noting that she seemed thoughtful and faraway.

Soon after Elena's little performance, Ophelia joined them. Her eyes were sparkling with excitement. "Elena, dear." The girl looked up, blinking slowly as she came out of her thoughts. "It's time to start getting you ready."

Her expression was grim as she nodded and stood, smoothing her hands over her skirt.

"I will see you soon," Tom called after them.

Notes:

Okay, here's the thing. I have two ways I can end this story. As I go on, I'm developing the second option more and more. The idea of it ending where I thought it would originally is just... too abrupt. Thus, we are somewhere between two-thirds and halfway there. I've been slowly adding in more of Elena's perspective, because if the story continues, it will be necessary to fill in certain gaps. Anyway, thanks for sticking with me.

Oh, and another note. Tom is indeed a teenager, but he's also a rising Dark Lord. I mean for him to be shown as developing toward the Lord Voldemort we know from the series. This means he's a manipulative little fuck (well, maybe not *little*) who believes he is entitled to the world. However, he is clearly not the Dark Lord we meet in the HP series yet. He's getting there.

I'm trying to keep him to canon as much as possible. This means he doesn't really affection so much as ownership; as far as we see in the novels and movies, he maybe has something resembling near-friendship (while not discounting his use and ownership of) Severus Snape. He has respect for very people, considers the opinions of fewer. All this said, that means he harbors no genuine romantic feelings for Elena in this, though he may attempt to present otherwise to others.

By the way, I had no idea Elena could sing until I thought of the scene in this chapter; it just developed.


	22. Chapter 22

The girl on his arm, he decided as they walked toward the appararition point at Nott Manor, was as lovely as she'd been at Malfoy Manor. He was wearing the same dress robes, as men (other than poppinjays) were allowed to have standard dress robes for occasions. When women did the same too close together, it was social anathema. Thus, Elena was no longer in the silver gown that had so hugged her curves.

No, this gown was a deep emerald green satin, strapless and fitted with a corset style bodice. Her breasts were displayed to their advantage above the sweetheart cut of the top. Black lace with shining stones sewn in trimmed the grown and trailed up along the pleats of her A-line skirt. Her hair was in wide, glossy curls around her shoulders, gleaming so they almost looked metallic, a dull gold. Her lips were dark, blood red. Again, her eyes were widened further by the makeup around them, her cheekbones high, cheeks blushed. She was wearing a golden necklace set with emerald drops all around, her shoes black velvet. Black gloves graced her arms to the elbow.

His free hand stroked over the silk-clad fingers at his bicep, as he contemplated her. Lestrange had called her "a little mousy" when Tom had asked his knights about her upon first noticing the girl last school year. She was undoubtably a mouse. Her fair wheat colored hair, her quiet disposition, her reluctance to be around others, even her small mouth and nose and too-wide eyes.

She looked anything but that tonight.

His fingertips stroked higher, until he met the soft warmth of her skin. "Are you ready?" he asked.

She nodded, her mouth set in a line as she tried not to chew at her painted lips. Ophelia had spent ages with the girl, painting her, styling her, corseting and primping her; her last words to the girl before they set off were, "Do not undo all of our work just because you get shy. You are too beautiful not to even pretend to be confident, dear heart."

He smiled, fingers tightening on her small arm before they winked away.

The London home of the Vablatskys was not nearly as impressive as Malfoy Manor, but it was lovely nonetheless. It was brick, with high walls around the garden, tall windows, and door that revealed an open entryway to them. Stairs on either side of the entrance led to the second floor, while between them seemed to be the social space, as there were tables at the edges of the large room and people milling about.

"It's a lovely home," Tom told the girl, who grimaced a smile in return.

They swept past the staircases and into the room proper, and the people nearest them stopped their conversation. One of them, adorned in a sober, regal black gown, was Cassandra Vablatsky. From the memories he'd seen, Tom knew who the barrel-chested man beside her was even before he introduced himself.

"Elena!" cried the woman, drawing her daughter into a hug and air-kissing just above the girl's cheeks. "I almost didn't recognize you, darling. You look so grown up!"

Aurek Vablatsky turned toward the pair, his eyes flashing with displeasure. "Yes, mausi, you've certainly matured." His bright eyes looked over Tom, sizing up the younger man as Tom did the same. He was a large man, perhaps seventeen stone, and around his own height. It had been difficult to divine these things from Elena's memories; she was perhaps 8 stone, and nearly half a meter shorter. Outside of Elena's memories, the man also seemed to loom less, his face prone more toward warmth. He was in whites and creams, the colors flattering to his golden palette. Whatever he saw in the darker, paler, blade-slim young man made him frown before he turned back to his "daughter."

He took her free hand in both of his and pulled her toward him. The girl took a step forward, but her hand stayed firmly on Tom's bicep, which flexed as though to keep her rooted firmly there. Aurek Vablatsky brushed his lips across her cheek and to the corner of her mouth before pulling back, though he kept her hand trapped. "I almost do not believe it still," he said through his heavy accent.

"Yes, well," she murmured, her heavy lashes downturned.

"She has grown into a veritable doll of perfection," Tom cut in. "She was the belle of the ball at the Malfoy Yule event." He touched her chin, turning her gaze to him. "Lord Malfoy himself was enchanted. Isn't that right, doll?"

"Lord Malfoy is an awful flirt," she said. While her other hand was still grasped by her would-be father, it was in that moment as though it were detached from her. The corner of her mouth twitched upward. "And I am fairly sure he was the belle of the ball."

Tom chuckled. "To be sure." As though only now remembering them, Tom turned toward the Vablatskys. "Forgive me, I seem to have forgotten my manners." He favored them with a disarming smile, inclining his head toward Cassandra. "It is a pleasure to see you again, Madam Vablatsky." His smile sharpened as he switched his gaze to the other man. "And you must be Aurek Vablatsky."

"You have me at a disadvantage," the large man said. "A father should know the man who escorts his daughter."

"Tom Riddle. I'm in Elena's year at Hogwarts."

"Tom is Head Boy," Cassandra confided to her husband. "I've asked around a little about him. Our Elena's beau is a rising star."

Without taking his eyes off the other man, Tom said, "You flatter me."

"Hm. Well, we appreciate you bringing our little girl home for the holiday," Aurek said at last.

"It is an absolute pleasure to be able to spend this winter with her," he responded. "Now if you would kindly excuse us, I am parched. Elena, pet?"

"Yes, let's get something to drink," she agreed, tugging at her hand until Aurek reluctantly released it. It went immediately to his left hand, and he led her toward the bar. As they stopped, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, bracing herself on him. It was strange to see her so ruffled, and not be the cause of it himself. He didn't not like it. As she came back to herself, he ordered them two glasses of wine, and guided her to the side of the room, away from prying ears.

"At some point tonight, I am going to speak to your—Aurek."

"You don't have—"

His grip on her hand tightened, and she obediently fell silent. "I told you, Elena; no one touches what is mine without repercussion."

"I'm not yours," she grumbled out.

"Don't mumble, doll. It isn't ladylike." He released her hand to cup her cheek. "And you are mine, whether you think it or no. It doesn't change that I've claimed you, and I always get what I want." The last was a dangerous whisper over her skin. "Enjoy the benefits, and don't fight it." He followed the line of her throat as she swallowed before she nodded. "Good girl."

He would not let her out of his sight for the evening. They danced, and he tugged her this way and that as he introduced himself to guests. They were all over the floor, nearly always engaged, until midnight approached.

Aurek Vablatsky finally cornered the couple as they took champagne in preparation for the countdown. "Mausi," he declared. Elena's grip on Tom's arm tightened. "Come, let us ring in the New Year as we did when you were small."

Tom saw a flash of something—the older man bending toward her for a kiss— and smiled cuttingly at the older man. "I'm afraid I'll be taking that liberty tonight. It is more appropriate, considering our… relationship."

"Elena is my daughter," the other insisted, glaring at the younger man.

Tom's voice flattened, eyes shining carmine in the soft light. "Is she?" Aurek's eyes narrowed at that, and he glanced from Tom to his daughter, and back again. "You'll not be spending time alone with Elena during this very short visit."

The large man stepped toward the couple, one fist tightening. "How dare you—"

"You do not want to upset me, Mister Vablastsky." He slipped his hand into the one with which she clutched at him as he stepped forward. "Elena and I have become very close this last year. She has confided certain things to me, things which I am sure you would not want others to know." Aurek became rigid, jaw clenched, eyes wide. "I know all about your fatherly affection, and I will not hesitate to use it to my advantage."

"Tom," she girl whispered behind him desperately, pulling at him.

The man's face had grown hilariously red, flushed down where his neck met his dress robes, and to the roots of his golden hair. "You would not dare risk—"

Tom's face went eerily blank, even as something close to cruel joy hissed through his voice. "Oh, I would. I promise, I would love to destroy your life, you, completely and utterly. I await a reason to do so."

Aurek's gaze darted between the pale-face terror of the girl and the strange calmness of the boy, the color in his own face settling down. "It would risk her—the other—" he was trying to reason, but Tom loosed his high, cold laugh.

"While Elena may care about that, I do not. Do not test me." With that, he turned, tugging the girl away from the little corner and out into the crowd. The man stared after the two of them, locked on them as the surrounding guests started counting down from ten. As the cry of, "Happy New Year!" rang out around them, Tom tipped Elena's face toward him, lowering his own until his lips slid across hers. Her mouth parted as a gasp of air brushed him, and he took full advantage, tongue darting out to sweep against the bottom edge of her lip, then pulling it into his mouth to nibble on it as she so liked to do. He could taste the blood near the surface, sign that she had done so recently, and found he quite liked the taste. The girl was trembling against him.

He looked out into the crowd, once more locking eyes with Aurek Vablatsky, who was once again red with fury. The large man's hand was clenched into a fist so that glass from his champagne flute dug into his flesh, and blood and the gold liquid dripped down his hand.

Tom's lips curled upward as he leaned away from the girl in his arms.

Notes:

Again, keep in mind, I read Tom as canonically a bit too psychopathic to have romantic feelings. I see him as a charismatic psychopath. Psychopaths as a rule don't feel love or remorse, but can experience regret. They otherwise feel a range of emotions. They tend to be charismatic, have high sex-drives, and some have tendencies toward violence. Even if they don't, they won't react to violence like non-psychopaths. Over time (with the horcruxes), I feel that certain things degrade/diminish with him. His sex drive, need to sleep, etc., will reduce quite a bit. However, he also becomes more impulsive, prone to outbursts.


	23. Chapter 23

Elena kept her head upturned after the kiss had ended, confused and unsettled and unsure whether she should have enjoyed that at all or been entirely livid that Tom had kissed her. He had said he would do as much to Aurek, but actually kissing her… well, she hadn't ever thought of it. It was unthinkable.

And it had happened. She slowly batted her lashes apart and studied him. He was facing into the crowd, and she glanced behind herself to look around— ah, that explained his elation.

The hand that still held her jaw, fingers playing in her hair, turned her back to him. "You've had a long evening. Shall I escort you to your room?"

Her eyes darted to the side, wanting to look back and make sure Aurek wasn't approaching, but he held her in place. Terror was lurking just below the surface, and she was trying to slow her racing heart. "He'll follow us up."

The crooked smirk on Tom's lips grew, baring his teeth viciously. "Good."

"That's not good," she breathed. Tom didn't understand. Aurek didn't like to be denied. That was why she had stopped coming home during breaks; he would often spend the first hours of the new year tucking her in once midnight struck, running his hands wherever he could, and— That's why she didn't come home for the holiday anymore, though he cornered her every summer when she came home to punish her for the offence.

"Not for him, no. It will be for me." She shook her head, the air in the room suddenly too thin to sustain her lungs, and she was trying to breathe deeply enough, fast enough to get oxygen to her brain, but all she managed to do was gasp, feeling like a fish thrown upon the land, gaping at the atmosphere that was drowning her in nothingness.

"Stop," Tom commanded. She stared up at him, desperate pants hiccoughing out of her. His hand trailed to the nape of her neck and he tightened his fist in her hair. The pain, sudden and sharp, cut through her panic. She hissed out the air in her lungs in a long sigh and furrowed her brow. She was grounded by it, the world no longer tipping and whirling about them. She could clearly see him, feel him, feel the floor under her heels. "Have you forgotten who I am? I told you, he will not be touching you anymore. You have no reason to be frightened of him. Do you understand?" At her nod, he lowered his hand, and slipped back into the posture of a gentleman escorting a lady.

When she curled her hand around his arm, he seemed pleased, though his face didn't shift. He extricated them from the crowd, nodding and murmuring politely as needed, leading them up the stairs to one side.

"You'll have to direct me, doll. I'm unfamiliar with your home."

Elena nodded again, not quite paying attention to everything happening. She felt almost outside of herself, like nothing was quite real except what she could touch. When she realized they'd stopped walking, she frowned, then thought back to what he'd said. Oh.

Elena nodded again, pulling gently on his arm as she led them down the hallway toward the end of the house, turned down another hall, and brought them to the end of that. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came, so she closed it again.

"This is your room?" When she dipped her head in response, he turned the brass knob, swinging the door open, pulling them inside before shutting and locking it. Elena surveyed her bedroom, realizing he did the same.

It was a fair size, though not so large that it couldn't be cozy. There was a fireplace for especially cold nights, a door that led to her private bath, windows along two walls that met in a corner, art on the others. Her bed was pressed up against the far wall, windows peeking out through the curtains of the white fourposter piece. The wardrobe was painted white, the dresser, the vanity, the desk. Everything had a touch of lace, flowers, pastel blues and pinks. There were dolls along the dresser, one in a comfortable armchair that was bright teal and cherry wood and looked almost out of place, and a few stuffed animal toys at the foot of the bed.

It looked the room of a small girl, not one on the cusp of adulthood. Elena slipped her wand from the concealed pocket of her gown, flourishing it. The trunk at the foot of her bed swung open. Another flick, and the toys on the bed, as well as the dolls lining her room, organized themselves inside. She aggressively spelled off the cream and pink, lacy, flower blanket. It folded itself and laid on top of everything in her chest. She then went to her bed, kneeling down to pull out a large navy comforter with gold tooling, wafting it across her bed. She bent down again and, with a nervous glance toward Tom, pulled out a stuffed, patchwork rabbit that had seen better days.

"Your room is at the other end of the house, two doors down when you take the first turn."

He smirked at her, then began working on his cuffs.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm getting out of these robes." He tugged off the jacket and laid it across the back of the chair, then did the same with his vest, folding it over the arm.

"Why?" Elena stood beside her bed, clutching the rabbit to her chest.

Tom arched a brow. "You said he would follow, yes?" She blinked. "I'll be here when he does."

For a moment, she just stared him. He'd pulled off his belt, slipped out of his shoes and his button-down, standing now only in his undershirt and trousers. "Can I help you?"

"I need to change."

He waved his hand on her to get on with it, and she huffed, set down her rabbit, and rooted around in her dresser before hurrying to the washroom. She changed as quickly as she could, washing the makeup from her face, pulling off and setting aside the jewels, and pulling on the nightdress. It was grey, falling to her knees, plain. She still looked strange to herself in the mirror, and finger-combed the curls in her hair until they looked less perfect. She set everything neatly in its place as she came back into her room, ignoring the young man sitting on her bed until she was done.

He'd transfigured his trousers into a loose pair to sleep in, and his undershirt was gone. She blanched at the sight.

"Your bed is large enough. Quite comfortable, too," he remarked, bouncing slightly as though to test the quality.

"Are you planning on sleeping here?"

He stared back at her, expression bland even as one brow rose. "Did you want to be alone if he decided to press the issue?"

"You're not wearing a shirt," she remarked instead.

One corner of his mouth twitched, and he said, "I usually wear less for bed."

Her face flushed, cheeks burning. "I didn't need to know that."

"There are women who would be pleased," Tom said as he finally shifted to lie on his side, elbow propping up one of his arms so he could rest his head on his fist.

"You're not interested in me that way," she said, looking down at her feet rather than at the person in her bed.

"I'm not?"

Her head almost hurt with the force as she snapped back up. She barked out a laugh before she could help herself. "You aren't— I'm sure you're not interested in romance."

His eyes flicked down her body, scanning her legs, her figure beneath the nightgown, lingering on her lips before smirking slyly. "Not romance, no."

Elena stiffened. "That's not likely to make me want to sleep in the same bed as you."

Tom rolled his eyes. "I'm not going to molest you, Elena. I might be an evil bastard, but I prefer bedding women who want me."

She deliberated on whether he was lying, but could find no reason for him to. He'd confessed to murder, seemed to enjoy torturing people, certainly liked manipulating them. After a moment, she nodded, and walked to the bed, slipping under the covers and facing the wall. She felt him shift behind her, the covers moving, and his weight was near enough she could almost sense him.

He wasn't particularly warm, so that wasn't it. If anything, Tom ran cold. However, he had presence. She took in a deep breath and let it out, tension leaking from her as she realized he meant what he said about keeping her safe, as much as Tom could mean anything like that. As she curled her legs toward her chest, huddling around the little rabbit she'd had since she could remember, his hand laid itself on her bicep, thumb stroking her skin.

"You're warm," he murmured. "It's… pleasant."

She nodded.

Elena waited for a bit, anticipating a movement, anything unusual. Nothing happened, and soon she found herself drifting off.


	24. Chapter 24

Tom hadn't been lying when he'd said he enjoyed the body heat she provided. Since creating the second Horcrux, he'd become colder both in mind and body. He could feel his kinship to serpents even more as he'd come to realize he enjoyed basking in heat. Thus, once the girl had drifted off, he shifted closer, hand falling to her waist. She was a little thing, breakable, soft.

One other change was the need for less— less sleep, less food, less. He was sure that as he split his soul more, other tethers to mortality and humanity would fall away. For now, he still became hungry and still enjoyed the press of a body against his.

Creaking floorboards interrupted his musings, and he listened as quiet, slow footsteps ambled ever closer. The man must have his wits about him to be so stealthy, no doubt not wanting to wake the girl before he entered the room.

Tom's wand had been in the pocket on his trousers, and he gently removed himself from the sleeping girl to slip it into his hand, rolling out of the bed, stepping lightly toward the door. He stood in stillness, hardly breathing, heartbeat a lazy thudding in his chest, until the steps stopped and a shadow blocked light from the hall. There came a quiet, "Alohamora." The knob jiggled, and he raised his wand, incantation readied.

When the door swung open, Tom directed a silent body-binding spell at the man, who fell to the ground. "Accio Aurek Vablatsky's wand." The slim wooden stick flew into his free hand, and he placed it in his now-empty pocket. He glanced over his shoulder to see that the girl was still asleep somehow, though she'd stirred onto her back. He then murmured, "Levicorpus," and guided the stiff body of the man down the hall, carefully shutting the door behind him. He knew his guest room was empty, so that was the location he went toward. The party was still going, so he avoided the central stairs.

A spell to ensure no one could hear anything from outside the room, and Tom dropped the levitation spell. Aurek fell to the floor, only able to grunt in response. He toyed with the idea of just letting the man loose, so he would see how impossible it was to fight against the will of the Dark Lord, twirling his yew wand idly. Since the start of break, he'd had no opportunities to vent his frustrations. True, he didn't need to indulge in violence. However, he enjoyed it.

Tom cancelled the body-binding. In seconds, the other man had bounded to his feet, and barreled toward him.

"Crucio."

The red light hit his chest, and Aurek fell again, this time moving in all sorts of ways. The cords of his neck bulged in stark relief as his screams perfumed the air. They were higher than he'd have thought, given the size of the man contorting himself into odd shapes on the floor. It was like hearing a cat yowling where one expected a lion's roar.

He lifted the spell, and the man panted for a moment before shakily rising to his feet once more.

"Riddle, you can't—"

"I can," he said evenly. "And I just did. This isn't even my favorite Unforgiveable. Would you like to experience that one next?" The man's eyes widened. They were bloodshot, the blue emphasized by the red. Tom did so like seeing people with bright eyes tortured; the apparent change in color was an interesting effect. "No? Perhaps you prefer this one, then."

"Riddle, listen—"

"Crucio."

This time, he crumbled rather than fell, knees failing him first, torso melting onto the floor, head hitting with a heavy "thwack!" His screams soon gained a hoarseness from their continuance. Tom let it go on a minute, maybe a tad longer, then cancelled it once more.

Aurek stayed on the floor longer this time, tears at the corners of his eyes, sweat beading on his body.

"Are you ready to listen?" Tom said.

The man dragged himself into a sitting position, staring with eyes that screamed hatred much as his throat had screamed in pain.

"Oh, good." He smiled mockingly. "You see, last year I learned just how special Elena is. I found out all about your wife's, ah, indiscretion, and what came of it." He tapped his wand against his thigh as the other's jaw clenched. "I learned Elena wasn't your daughter at all—"

"A man's wife's children are his by rights if he wants them," Aurek growled.

"Are they? In what way?"

"She's my step-daughter."

He tapped his wand again, Aurek's eyes drawn to the movement, watching closely lest Tom decide to use another curse. "That implies a familial bond," he said.

"Ja, she is family—"

Tom shook his head, his smooth curls falling over his forehead. "Oh, Aurek. Aurek, Aurek. A father doesn't lust after his daughter, his family."

The big man opened his mouth, but Tom silenced him with a lift his wand, a threat.

"Do not lie to me. I abhor liars, and I can already see that's what you want to spout."

"What do you know?" he said after a pause, lines heavy on his face.

Tom sneered down at the man. "I saw her memories. Back to your first meeting. I saw your little lessons, and heard what you said to her before she came to Hogwarts after the summer."

He shook his golden head in denial. "I have treated the girl as I would my own—"

Tom flicked his wand and Aurek slammed into the wall behind him, sinking down to the floor. "If that's the case, you're more despicable than I thought. Well, I suppose I should see for myself." He crossed the room and knelt to study his victim. "What was your plan when you entered her room tonight?" He stroked his wand over the man's temple. Aurek's breath was trembling. "Legilimens."

What Tom saw was enough that he immediately set the Cruciatus on the man again as he pulled from the other's mind. This man, this disgusting excuse for a wizard, had sought to pluck something that wasn't his to take. It seemed that, when he saw Tom that evening, he'd decided to dispense with the lessons altogether and do what he'd been inevitably preparing the girl for.

Tom was furious. In his anger, he kept the curse up longer than he had before, until Aurek's voice broke and fled, and longer. When he finally cancelled it, he circled around the shivering mass, watching as Aurek came back to himself in fits and starts. When his eyes finally filled with knowledge of where he was, Tom stepped on the outstretched fingers of one of the man's hands, taking satisfaction in the crunch beneath his foot.

"Listen closely, Aurek. I do not like to repeat myself," Tom seethed. "Elena is mine, and I do not share my possession. Least of all with perverse creatures like you." The man took in a shuddering breath that rattled in and out of his chest. Perhaps he'd broken a rib or two; the thought brought the cruel smile back to Tom's lips.

"What will you do?" The sound was raw, quiet, hoarse in the stillness of the room.

"I will expose you as a pedophile," Tom said. "I will bottle Elena's memories and send them to your family, to all your old friends in Poland and Germany, those here in England. I'll send them to Elena's father as well."

The man's face paled beneath the sheen of sweat. "You would condemn him to death?"

Tom laughed, that cold, high laugh that sent gooseflesh down the skin of grown men. "You ask that of me? Really?"

Aurek wheezed, thought, opened his mouth, hesitated. Finally, he said, "I could tell them what you've done. The Cruciatus—"

"No one would believe you." His smile was especially cruel when he said the next. "And if you did that, I'd wait for your scandal to die down and introduce you to my favorite Unforgiveable. No one would morn the death of a pedophile who made his victim call him daddy."

Aurek held eye contact for a second longer, saw his death written in Tom Riddle's eyes, and slumped back in on himself, nodding.

"I'm glad we have an understanding." Tom walked back to the door, pulled out the other wizard's wand, and turned. "Before I go, I will warn you: you will never get the upper hand on me. Never. Don't try." He tossed the wand across the room, and the older man groaned as he crawled toward it. Tom walked back to Elena's room with a smile on his face.


	25. Chapter 25

The rest of the break had passed without anything notable happening. Avery had come over once or twice, and Lestrange had ventured over for lunch.

On the last day, Ophelia brought them to Kings Cross, and fawned over Elena as though she were her own daughter, and Tom not much less. Theodorus had no hope of holding out against her affection. Elena's parents had also come to see her off, a tradition apparently. Tom was pleased to note that Aurek Vablatsky only gave the girl a tentative, one-armed hug. He watched Tom's face the entire time to make sure he had not over-stepped. Tom was sure the man continued to stare after them when Tom swept her under his arm and onto the train.

Elena had studied him curiously on the train, before the others joined them. "What did you tell him?" She didn't have to elaborate.

"That you're mine, and he's not to touch you," Tom said, mouth quirking at the corners. He saw the fire in her eyes at the statement, how she longed to refute his claim. He still had one arm curled around her, tucking her into his side. When she didn't speak, he laid the other on her thigh. Elena looked out the window.

People noticed, of course. Hogwarts was a rumor mill of highest caliber, and whispers that Tom Riddle was seen escorting Elena Vablatsky to parties, wrapped around her on the train, escorting her to Ravenclaw Tower.

Tom caught a certain Hufflepuff glaring daggers at him in the Great Hall one afternoon. He lifted his goblet of pumpkin juice in salute, and Johnson scowled and looked away.

"What was that about?" murmured Lestrange.

"Johnson has heard I'm courting Elena," he responded, amusement thick in his voice.

The Knight's brows knit together in a frown. "You are?"

"More or less," he shrugged. "As much as I've courted any woman." They shared a smirk; his Knights were aware of his appetites, both the depth and breadth of them. He'd had Lestrange, who shared his predilection for sadism, practice obliviation on a few of them. Many young women had thrown themselves at the handsome, charming, intelligent young man; rare was the girl who could endure his attentions.

"How is she?" Rad had taken advantage of his position to seduce Tom's cast-offs, soothing ruffled egos and broken hearts, while indulging in cruelty that was mild after facing Riddle's.

Tom deliberated his response for a moment, before answering, "Delightfully fragile. And off limits for now."

The other Slytherin nodded even as he considered the Ravenclaw, who sat with her back toward the group. She looked different lately, more put together; she'd also improved in her classes since they returned from break. After a moment, he repeated, "For now?"

"Well, I don't foresee myself falling in love with the girl," Tom said archly. "I'll eventually have my fill of her, and she will go to one of you."

Lestrange pulled his attention away from the girl and to Tom. "Wait, you're giving her to one of us?"

Tom rolled his eyes. "I can hardly let her marry some good little boy who will run off and tell Dumbledore or the Aurors that I'm killing people, can I?" At that, Dolohov looked away from his conversation with Nott, who had surreptitiously glanced around to make sure no one was listening in.

"What's this?" the large sixth year asked.

Lestrange responded, "Tom is going to have Elena marry one of us when he's done with her."

The Head Boy ran his hand across his face in annoyance. "We can discuss this later, Rad."

"Of course," he said. "I just want to put it out there that she is my type. I like the little, breakable ones." His eyes shone as he stared back over at her.

"She's not something to break," Nott admonished. "She's a person."

"We all know you wouldn't appreciate her, Teddy, so no need to butt in," was the retort.

"Well, he's right," said Dolohov. "I'm sure Tom doesn't want her broken if he's having one of us take her."

"Enough," Tom commanded at last. "I said we will discuss this later, and we will discuss this later. Understood?"

They all murmured their agreement, not as eager to speak up after their reprimand.

When they'd all finished their meal, Tom ushered them to the library to study.

The mudblood was talking to Elena. Tom had been certain that he'd gotten the message, but Johnson was standing beside her desk, hands in his pockets, and smiling shyly as he spoke. Tom stepped to the other side of her and stroked her cheek, then pretended to startle at seeing the Hufflepuff there.

"Johnson, hello. How are you?"

Elena had stiffened at his touch, throwing him a chiding look before turning an apologetic smile to the other boy.

"Oh, er, hi, Riddle. I was just asking Elena if she was coming to the game next week. It's her House playing, after all. Against your blokes, right?" he said. "Your pal Lestrange is a beater, isn't he?"

"Yes, he is. A good one, from what I understand." His hand had settled on Elena's shoulder, thumb stroking the skin between her robes and her neck. "Excuse me, I just needed to discuss whether we were still meeting during our free period. Elena?"

She was clearly unhappy at the current situation, and her obvious discomfort would have amused Tom had he not been irritated at the audacity of the Hufflepuff mudblood. "Ah, yes, of course. At the library?"

"No," he said. "Our more private study room."

Johnson's expression darkened at that, even as Elena's cheeks burned. "I should be seated," he said, thumb gesturing behind himself. The girl nodded, frowning as he went.

"That was uncalled for," she said as Tom slid into the seat beside her.

"Was it?" he quipped, dating his parchment with a few quick scrawls from his quill. "We're going steady, and he was flirting with you. Any young man would get a touch possessive seeing someone encroach on his bird."

"We are not going steady." Elena scowled, her voice low. "You don't have romantic interests, remember?"

Tom tickled the end of his quill under her chin, drawing her gaze to him. "As I said before, my interests don't have to extend to romance, remember?" he mocked even as his eyes dropped to where her chest was concealed beneath her robes. Her scowl deepened even as her cheeks flared again.

"I— I am – I am not some sexual conquest," she hissed, her anger flustering her to the point of near-intelligibility.

He waited until the professor had entered, murmurs falling silent, to return a hushed, "You're not?"

By the clenching of her jaw, she had a retort, but class had begun. Her quill dug into the paper, skidding slight tears as she wrote something down. Then Merrythought's lecture began in truth and the anger slowly drained from her as she entrenched herself in the lesson.

She stuffed everything into her bag and was off to Charms before he could finish putting away his note, where she was similarly distracted. When she attempted the same flight to the dungeons, Tom snatched her wrist, placed her items away with a wand flick, and took her bag on his shoulder.

"Allow me to escort you, doll." It wasn't a request and her lips narrowed in annoyance, but she took his arm. As they stepped into the corridor and Avery and Nott flanked them with Lestrange bringing up the rear, Tom said, "I don't like when you avoid me, Elena."

She shrugged slightly, but didn't respond.

"After class, we will go study in our usual place, and you will stop behaving like a child," he told her.

Elena nodded, but didn't say anything.

After Potions, he escorted her up to the classroom on the sixth floor. She still had hardly spoken to him, but she hadn't taken pains to ignore him either. Lestrange was on her other side even as her hand was on Tom's arm.

"So, Vablatsky," Rad said, "What's your favorite class?"

"Er, Arithmancy, I suppose?" she frowned at the young man, as though trying to figure out why he spoke to her.

"I like Defense Against the Dark Arts, personally," he confided despite her not asking. "I sometimes wish I'd gone to Durmstrang, though. They actually teach it there."

"Teach what?"

He blinked at her. "The Dark Arts."

As they trekked up to the second floor, Dolohov and Rosier fell in beside Avery.

"Why would you want to learn that?" Elena said, her lip curled a touch at her revulsion. Tom laughed and patted her hand gently.

"What do you think I teach them when you're not around, doll?" At her grimace, he tutted. "Don't be so dismissive. This is why we here are the strongest duelists Hogwarts has to offer."

"I could show you a few things if you like," Lestrange offered after a moment.

Elena turned to him, eyeing his face as though he were a particularly unfamiliar puzzle, then focused back on the floor ahead of herself.

"It'd be fun," he added.

"Rad." The warning from Tom made him fall silent, though his wolfish grin belied the apologetic shrug. He kept quiet for the rest of the walk.

Tom spelled the professor's chair beside the table they'd transfigured into being, seating himself at the head. While Elena took a chair to his left and Theodorus to his right, there was a brief moment of tension when Dolohov and Lestrange both tried to sit beside the girl.

She frowned at them both as they stared one another down, then said to no one in particular, "Did I miss something?"

The two young men looked to Tom, who was obviously amused by the whole situation if the tilt at one corner of his mouth was an indication. When he shrugged, Avery said from his spot beside Nott, "They're fighting over you."

"Come again?" she asked.

They were still standing, Dolohov's bag on the table while Lestrange had the chair pulled out. They both glanced toward their leader again, who raised a brow, but said nothing. "Lestrange is trying to claim you," Dolohov said at last.

"Like you're not?" the other young man said.

"I'm sorry, what?" That had not clarified anything for her.

All the while, Tom looked on with that eerie half smile on his face.

"Tom said when he's done with you, he'll give you to one of us to marry," Lestrange explained. "Given how he and I share specific tastes, I would like that to be me."

Elena continued looking at him while she processed the information, blinking slowly. She indolently turned to Tom, frowning once more, and his smile widened into a feral grin when he saw something rising in those dark eyes, filling them and taking them from serene to whirling. "You're joking." It was not a question, but firmer, almost a command.

"You can't marry someone like Johnson, doll," Tom responded evenly. "I need to ensure you're well cared for. Your future husband should be one of my Knights."

She ground her teeth so hard that he could hear it, and one of her hands trembled until she curled it into a tight fist. "I am not—" She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and he could almost see her trying to pull herself together in her rage. "I am not a toy, Tom. You can't just claim me. And you most certainly cannot give me to anyone."

He sat back in the chair, long legs crossed at the ankle as they stretched in front of him. "I disagree." His voice was pleasant, the smile still curling his lips.

"This isn't a discussion. I'm a person, Tom, and I am my own," she spat, pushing back from the table at the last word and standing upright, swinging her bag onto her shoulder.

As she turned, Tom's hand snaked around her forearm and tugged her to him. "You seem to have forgotten yourself, doll," he murmured, his voice now dangerous and all the amusement gone in the flash of her defiance. "You seem to have forgotten who I am."

She was still trembling, staring down at him where he sat, expression warring between fear and fury. "I haven't forgotten anything, Tom," she said at last, voice hoarse.

"Haven't you?" he lifted one dark brow and considered the girl. His gaze flicked to his Knights, who were all watching with carefully neutral faces. "Study session is over. We are going to the dungeons." His grip tightened on Elena. "All of us. It's time our little pet learned how we operate."


	26. Chapter 26

The room was cold, and gooseflesh broke over her despite the robes she still wore. They were in an empty classroom in the dungeons. Tom had locked and warded it himself to ensure no one would stumble on them. The five Knights all stood at pseudo attention behind their leader, and Elena was standing on her own before them all.

"Gentlemen," he said, "You all know our dear Elena as a classmate, as a study partner, and as— much as she may disagree— mine. Tonight, we officially welcome her into our inner circle." Some of the young men nodded; Nott was staring at her with something akin to worry. "Of course, she must first learn to address her Lord and Master appropriately."

Elena took a step back. It put her further from the door, but she knew she couldn't leave anyway.

"I have been handling you delicately, Elena, doll. But perhaps you desire a firmer grip, so tonight the gloves come off." Tom's voice was cold, soft.

"Tom," she began, "I—"

"Do not," he said, the hissed words cutting through her own, "mistake my past leniency for affection. I've tried to make it clear that I do not have a sentimental nature."

Staring at the hard angles of his face, she realized then just how foolish she'd been. Elena was certain Tom had tortured her mother's husband. The man had been half terrified of the schoolboy when they left. She knew he'd murdered, knew his hands were far from clean, had once been at the end of his wand herself. Somehow, she'd let her temper get the best of her. He hadn't harmed her in so long, she'd thought she was safe. That was a mistake.

Elena locked eyes with Nott, whom she knew well enough to call a friend, and whom she knew felt the same for her, pleading. Tom noticed, of course.

"You think he'll save you?" His laugh was that creepy high sound she suspected was the genuine article. "He won't. None of my Knights will keep you from me. Not even after you've wed one of them. As they are mine, you are also." Before she could even think to respond, he gestured Nott forward. "Perhaps that should be your next lesson. Theodorus, whom do you serve?"

"You, my lord," Nott said immediately.

"And you will do as I say?"

"Yes, my lord."

"Even if it means hurting someone you like?"

Elena might have imagined the slightest hesitation before he said again, "Yes, my lord."

Tom's smile frightened her. "The Cruciatus, if you will," he told the other man, gesturing toward Elena.

"What, Tom, please—" Elena called out, then collapsed to the stone floor as Nott said the incantation. It was pain like she'd never felt before, like someone had taken every bruise, every fall, every slap, every little hurt she'd ever experienced and put it into these few seconds. She was quite sure she could hear herself screaming, feel her limbs flailing, but the burning, twisting, electrifying, cold, hot pain seared her, poisoned her, would kill her—

It ended as abruptly as it had started, and she pulled her knees to her chest as though she could protect herself, staring at the men before her.

"Very good, Theodorus." Nott recognized the dismissal and stepped back. "It's all right, doll. Nott needs his practice, and I assure you my own Cruciatus is far worse."

Her eyes were streaming tears, but her body was still shaking with aftershocks and she couldn't find it in her to care about crying in front of them. "Please, Tom, I'm sorry," she begged.

"More?" He sounded surprised, but beckoned Avery forward. "Who am I to deny you. Alfred, go on then."

He hesitated a brief second, and hope bloomed inside her until the red curse struck her once more and she was lost to the pain. It was excruciating, bending her limbs, frying her mind, burning along her insides both hot and freezing cold. Her muscles contracted violently, as though her organs were being pierced over and over and over—

Rosier was called forth quickly enough that hardly had Avery's Cruciatus finished before his began.

She remained sobbing on the floor, screaming once more before realizing the curse had finally lifted. Elena scrambled forward, "Tom, please, please," she sobbed.

He shook his head, disappointed. "Lestrange."

"My lord." The usually brooding young man looked elated, gazing at the crying girl on the floor.

"Rad enjoys torture, don't you, Rad?"

"Yes, my lord," he eagerly agreed.

Tom knelt to Elena's level. "He wants you to himself, you know," he divulged. "He often takes my cast away toys, and sometimes even I'm astonished by his sadism." He stroked her cheek, then stood and gestured to his Knight.

If the others had been pain, this was something else. This was Hell, inferno. This was a lake of fire. Her blood had been replaced with acid and it burned through her. It was consuming, devouring agony. Nothing else existed, and it was everywhere and everything, and she was going to die like this, going to burst from this anguish so exquisite that it was shattering her into pieces and—

Elena lay there, her body trembling, her voice wheezing. She thought she heard a sound of discontent as Lestrange was told to step back. She turned her head and looked over at the line of men, tears leaking silently from her eyes. Lestrange gazed hungrily back, tongue skirting out to lick his upper lip. She trembled against the fabric of her robe, which now pooled around her on the floor.

"Dolohov."

She blinked and the sound clicked something inside her. "Please," she whispered. "Please, no more. I'm so sorry. I'll be good."

Tom nodded sympathetically, his dark eyes kind. "I'm sure, sweetheart, but Antonin hasn't had his turn. We have to be fair, don't we?"

She sobbed brokenly as the Cruciatus was cast again and she was thrown back into Hell.

It was a single-minded pain, a pain that burned and burned and burned. It ate her, its teeth fire and its saliva molten, tearing into her, swallowing her very soul, and she was sure now, sure that it couldn't last, that she'd die, but maybe she'd already died. She couldn't think past the pain, the torture, the agony that was all-encompassing. There had been nothing before, and now she was in Hell and there would never be anything other than this ever again. She was pain and she was dead and she just screamed and let the pain become her.

"That was impressive, Antonin. Was that your first time casting the curse?"

"Yes, my lord," came the cultured response.

"You have a gift. I think that may even match my own Cruciatus."

"Thank you, my lord."

There was no sound for a moment, and Elena laid there with her cheek pressed to the cool floor, trying to breathe, trying to remember who she was, trying to become a living thing again. Cloth rustled near her ear, then something was stroking down her aching, torn throat.

"Have you learned your lesson, doll?"

She nodded, reality slowly coming back together around her. She would say anything, do anything not to feel that Hell again.

"You'll have to say the words," came that beautiful, terrible voice.

Elena batted her eyes open, the world tipping and blurring and slowly coming back into focus, bringing into view Tom's angelic face. The words, he'd said. She had to say the words. She swallowed, her mouth dry, licking her lips as though her tongue weren't almost useless now. Her brows twinged together, then her whole body spasmed in memory of the pain. There were words she was supposed to say, he was waiting on her, and he wouldn't be patient for long.

At last, they came to her and she took a breath, breathing out, "Yes, my lord," with it.

Tom gazed down at her, his thumb stroking the notch of her throat. "To whom do you belong?"

"You, my lord."

He beamed. "Good girl."

The world blurred again, warmly somehow. Tears soon flooded her face, but she kept still to minimize the aftereffects of the curse.

"Oh, sweetheart, it's alright." He pulled her up and she realized he had conjured a chair. Tom sat in it, rubbing circles on her back as he positioned her across his lap. "You're alright now. I told you, I take care of what's mine." He tipped back her head, and then she felt a brush of something soft against her lips. "Be a good girl, and you'll never have to feel that again," he said, the hand on her back tugging a few of her curls down to twirl in his fingers.

She nodded, briefly wondering at the steady heartbeat she could hear where her ear lay against his chest.

"You'll be good, won't you?"

"Yes, my lord," she ground out, so quietly it wasn't even a whisper.

She could feel the pleasure he took in that statement, and thought she should be screaming, should be pulling herself away from him, disgusted. Instead, she sat there just like a toy, a doll he'd plucked from the ground and held in his arms.

That's exactly what she was to him.

She stayed there, curled up against him as he stroked his hands soothingly over her back, over her stockinged legs, over her hair. He plied her with a few more soft kisses, though she didn't have energy or mind to respond. A very distant part of her wondered if he would take things further, but he didn't. She knew she should have been terrified by the thought, but she curiously felt nothing now. Just hollow aching.

Once he had sufficiently comforted her, he wiped the tear tracks from her face and stood with her, gently lowering her to her feet, though he had a supporting arm around her waist. Elena noted that they were alone. She had no idea when the others had left.

"Let's get you to bed, sweetheart. I'm sure you'll feel better in the morning." Tom had her bag; someone had taken his apparently. He guided her out of the dungeons, up the stairs, through the Ravenclaw common room, though it all was hazy and faraway.

When they'd reached the stairs to her dormitory, he tilted her face to him again, scanning it. "I expect you at breakfast in the morning." At her nod, he smiled, planted one last chaste kiss on her lips, and sent her up to bed.

Elena spent most of her night staring up at the navy cloth over her bed, tracing over the folds of it as her body trembled with reverberations from the Cruciatus. Eventually, she dozed off, and dreamt of a world of red light and high, cruel laughter.


	27. Chapter 27

Tom was pleased. His Knights were all set for their next moves. The seventh years had their careers lined up, the knowledge of what he expected from them. The two sixth years, Dolohov and Rosier, would work on recruiting. He had a few things to work out for himself, but he was certain that they would. Lord Voldemort always got his way.

As he ate, his gaze drifted toward the Ravenclaw table and his pet. She had returned to that mousy, almost broken state she'd been in at the beginning of the year, but in time she would come back to herself. It hadn't taken long before, and he had ideas on how to speed the process.

Her brokenness brought him back to the event that caused it, and the corner of his mouth twitched. That had been one of the best nights he'd had in a while, and he'd generously shared with his Knights. Tom had thought Elena looked lovely covered in her own blood, but weeping and openly begging him after she'd been screaming in pain stirred him more.

She'd handled the five rounds of Cruciatus well enough, though it left a mark on her spirit. And she'd been an obedient little thing ever since, waiting for him to escort her to classes after breakfast in the morning, presenting her cheek for him to kiss without a fuss. He'd held her during their last study session, pulling her onto his lap so he could run his hands over her small form. A part of him wanted to see how far he could push her, how cruel he could be, now that she was hardly present in herself. Tom was sure he could have her writhing in agony beneath him without his wand, but…

There were some things Tom Riddle did not do. Once she had come back to herself, there would be plenty of time to seduce her and show her the darker side of pleasure. It was a new and thrilling game, toying with a girl who'd seen firsthand what he was. Always before, it had been too easy, innocent little lambs practically begging for slaughter. This felt far more satisfying. Perhaps he would start recruiting more women to his cause so he could do the same with them.

"Did you hear?" Nott broke into his reverie, and he blinked to refocus himself. "Merrythought is retiring at the end of the school year. Apparently, she has a husband and he's retired, so she wants to do the same and spend time with him."

"Is that so?" He considered for a moment. "But who will replace her to mold all these young minds?"

"Dippet is taking applications already," Nott responded with a shrug. "It's a bit short notice, but he'll find someone. Maybe a retired Auror."

"He has all summer," chimed in Rosier. "I hope whoever he hires is at least interesting."

Tom surveyed the staff table to see it was bereft the headmaster, and stood, deciding he was done with lunch. Whatever the others saw on his face, they knew better than to ask. The route to the headmaster's office was as familiar as his own hand, and he wondered at the timing of it all as he made his way there. He was strong in DADA, anticipating an easy Outstanding on his NEWT for the class (and every other one he'd take). Moreover, he loved Hogwarts as he had loved nothing else in his life. It was tied into his blood by the founder he could trace his lineage to, and it was tied to his soul as the only place that he'd ever thought of as a home. To take a teaching position, allowed to stay all year long if he wished, was like a dream.

It would also ensure he would have access to young witches and wizards, eager to please their professors. He could pick and choose the brightest and most powerful among them, slowly sway them to his cause. He wouldn't have to rely on his Knights to do his recruiting. And all of it would be under Albus Dumbledore's nose.

He murmured the password to the gargoyle guarding the entrance with a genuine smile on his face.

"Tom! How delightful to see you," said the gnarled old wizard. He bade the head boy sit across from him, and Tom took the seat, declining an offer of tea. "What brings you in to see me?"

"Well, headmaster," he began, settling his expression into one of earnestness. "I heard this afternoon that Professor Merrythought is leaving at the end of the year."

"Yes," said Dippet, nodding. "She has given us many great years, you well know being one of her pupils. We'll miss her."

"Do you know who you'll be hiring in her place, sir?"

"Not yet, not yet. Galatea only put in her resignation today," he stroked his long, grey beard. "I'm sure I'll have applications start coming in tomorrow. It's a good position."

"I'm just worried, you understand, sir," Tom began, hesitating just a touch, eyes imploring under thick lashes. "What, with Grindewald still out there, and all. I've heard people say that Professor Merrythought's instruction could be a key factor in how strong the Aurors coming out of Hogwarts have been these last few decades." He wrung his hands. "Can we afford to go without her invaluable knowledge?"

Dippet came around his desk to sit beside Tom, laying one hand over the young man's own clasped palms. "Tom, dear boy, your worry for the future students of Hogwarts is commendable, but I'm afraid Galatea has earned her retirement. She deserves some time with her husband."

"Of course, sir. I didn't mean to imply at all—that is, I would never presume—" He pursed his lips and frowned, as though searching for the words. "I just thought, sir, it might be best to have someone who knows her work, saw firsthand how effective her curricula were. And, I had hoped that perhaps you might consider me for the position—"

Dippet hid a small smile behind leathery fingers. "I daresay you are the most brilliant student since Albus Dumbledore was enrolled here, Tom." He patted the young man's shoulder. "But you would need experience out in the world, living your own life, before I could justifiably hole you up here to teach."

"But sir, I—"

"No, Tom," he shook his head. "Perhaps in a few years, lad. You're gifted, and you will go far in life. But this is not your path for the moment."

Tom had to take in a slow breath to keep himself from growling at the old fool. He wasn't experienced enough? He, Lord Voldemort, was not experienced enough to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts? He was the Dark Arts, knew it better than Merrythought, and certainly better than Dippet, whom he doubted could even cast a jinx, let alone a truly Dark spell. Tom fumed inwardly, but forced himself to serenity on the outside, nodding understandingly. "Of course, headmaster. I hope that, when the time comes that I'm truly ready, there is a place for me."

"I'm sure there will be, Tom. Now, are you sure you won't take that tea?"


	28. Chapter 28

Elena was the envy of most of Hogwarts' female population, and some of the male as well. She was Tom Riddle's sweetheart, and he was the most perfect boyfriend a girl could have. That's what the girls in her dormitory told her several times over. They thought it sweet that he would venture into another House common room to meet her in the mornings, that he would walk her to her classes even if it wasn't one they shared (there were few of those), and he would escort her to the library to study, and back to her dormitory in the evenings.

He kissed her forehead affectionately and would brush a light kiss to her lips every evening before bidding her goodnight. Any time the two were together, he had a hand on her— around her waist, by her knee, holding her own hand. He'd briefly dated other girls before, but never had they seen him so loving before. It was the height of romance.

It was her eighteenth birthday, and one of her dormmates had swept in to tell her Tom was awaiting her downstairs. He had flowers, of all things, and had asked the girl if she would please let Elena know that he was hoping they could go to Hogsmeade and spend the day together, just the two of them. The dark-haired girl had sighed, a hand curled over her chest at the romance of it all.

Elena had been enjoying a new book, had planned to spend her day that way. However, she knew better than to keep Tom waiting. She checked that the charm on her hair still held, grabbed her cloak, and set downstairs.

A slow smile bloomed across his face when Elena came near. He stood from his seat, pushing in his chair, and took her hand in his as he met her. "Happy birthday, sweetheart," he said, pulling her into an embrace.

She could smell the clean scent of his soap, and his sweater was soft against her cheek. She pulled back as soon as he would allow.

"These are for you." He held a bouquet with pink snapdragons, white roses, and a small flower that came in yellow, red, and orange. "Nasturtium," he said as she stroked one of the petals. She nodded, staring down at the flowers rather than addressing him.

"Those are so beautiful, Elena," came a voice behind her. It was her dormmate, who had decided to watch the romantic moment between the two.

"Er, yes," Elena agreed. "Thank you, Tom. I should— go put these in something, I think." She stepped back, but his hand did not release her.

"I could do that for you!" said the eager brunette.

Tom beamed at her. "Would you? That's so kind." He pulled out a single white rose and handed the rest of the bouquet to the waiting girl, who darted away as though she'd been given a secret treasure. "Here, doll." Tom stroked the rose against her cheek, and she grabbed it, wincing when she realized there were thorns. He was smiling at the reaction.

Elena inspected her finger, but there was no blood; she'd just have to be more careful.

"Shall we?" the young man said, offering he arm. She nodded and laid her right hand on the inside of bis bicep, letting him lead them out of the castle and toward the village.

"White roses," she said as they trekked past the gates. "Those mean something specific, don't they?"

"All flowers do," Tom conceded.

"Innocence?" Elena guessed, and he nodded as though he were pleased with her.

"Do you know what else?" At her slight shake of the head, he said, "Secrecy."

"Oh." She considered this, then asked, curiosity getting the better of her, "What about the others?"

His free hand danced over her fingers. "Snapdragons also have more than one meaning. Gracious Lady," he said as he stroked his index finger down hers. "Or deception." She shuddered. "And the last flower, nasturtium, means conquest."

Elena felt a flash of indignance, but she suppressed it before she could act on it. It would only make everything worse. She instead studied the passing landscape, noting the remnants of winter fading into spring. It was still winter for a few days yet, but the growing things didn't seem to realize. She hoped that was a good omen, despite (perhaps ironically) not believing in such things.

"Where are we going?" she said as they reached the village proper.

He smiled and led her toward Honeydukes. "I thought you might enjoy some sweets." She nodded uncertainly, but followed inside. "Choose whatever you like, love," he murmured, lips grazing over her forehead. Some nearby third year girls sighed as they looked on and Elena shared a reluctant smile.

Wizarding sweets were rarely just flavor, she thought as she picked through the aisles. She hadn't sent her da any the last few trips, and wondered if she could package some away at the end of the day. She wasn't much of a fan of chocolate frogs, but her da loved the cards, so she grabbed two. And a box of glacial snow melts, which she'd never tried, and treacle fudge. She glimpsed Tom where he leaned against a wall, and bit her lip. She didn't want to abuse his apparent good mood, so she met his eyes and nodded when he looked up.

They left the store after he insisted on paying, and guided her past the shops. He had a destination in mind, but she couldn't think what it was. They'd already passed the Hog's Head, not that many students frequented the establishment. It was as he led her into the tree line that she froze.

"What?" Tom asked, frowning.

Her face had gone white and she shook her head. "Not there, please. I've been good, haven't I?"

"Why are you—ah. I'm not taking you there to punish you, sweetheart," he assured her, and she studied his face for the lie. "I promise. Come on, then. We'll go to a different spot." She began walking once more, though her heart still pounded in her chest. True to his word, they stopped at a little rock formation. Tom swept off his cloak and transfigured it into a blanket to cover the forest floor, the placed her bag of sweets and the bag he'd brought along in the center before gazing up at her expectantly.

Elena lowered herself to sit with him, watching in confusion as he began to remove things for his bag. A little white box, a bag of crisps, a bottle of wine. "A picnic?" she said at last.

"I thought it might be pleasant," he responded, opening up the box to reveal neat little sandwiches. He then turned his attention to the wine, taking a swig from the bottle and offering it to her.

"We shouldn't be drinking," Elena said, but at his wry glance, she took it and sipped from it. It was a rich, bitter red. She was sure it was of good quality, though she didn't know wines well. However, she had developed a slight weakness for reds at the Nott home. They ate the sandwiches and crisps in the quiet hum of nature, passing the bottle back and forth between them.

When they'd finished the meal, Tom leaned back on the transfigured blanket and teased his hand against her thigh where her skirt still covered it. "I was right, wasn't I?" he said. At her questioning look, he added, "About this being pleasant."

She forced a smile onto her face which she was sure looked as nervous as she felt. "Yes. Thank you."

"Lay with me," he commanded, and she obediently lowered her back to the blanket. There was space between them, and he crept closer to her, propping himself on his side against her. Elena took in deep, steadying breaths. "You needn't be so nervous," he said as his hand smoothed over the material of her shirt. She could feel the weight of it on her stomach. "I've been a gentleman, haven't I?"

Elena wasn't sure what to say, so she nodded, and he seemed to take that as permission enough that he bent over her and kissed her lips. It had more pressure to it than the chaste ones he graced her with in public, and his tongue soon ran across her bottom lip, then pushed between, into her mouth. She obediently parted her lips and let him explore her mouth, stroking her tongue with his own before it retreated. She was almost relieved, until he sucked at her lip, and his teeth bit into it sharply and without warning. She whimpered, and his body was now above hers, one leg nudging hers apart to slide between.

She pressed a hand against his chest and pulled her mouth away. "Wait, stop. Please."

His eyes were dark with something other than anger and her cheeks were hot. "You're enjoying this," he said matter-of-factly. At the insistent shake of her head, he chuckled. "I have a gift for seeing the truth, pet. You're telling me you didn't enjoy that kiss?"

She swallowed and thought of her reply. "I didn't want it."

Tom's lips ghosted against her ear as he lowered to whisper, "But you enjoyed it all the same." One hand skimmed up her side to cup one of her breasts. He kneaded it, pulling back to watch her face, which was scarlet and mortified. "You can't keep denying me forever," he laughed, sidling over once more, his hand leaving her breast to trail over her neck. "You might be a pure little thing, but you're not a saint." His hand tightened in her hair where it met her scalp, a brief flush of something almost painful.

Elena frowned up at him. "You tortured me."

"I didn't torture you, doll," he reminded her.

That drew huff from her. "You ordered it."

"I didn't hear you complaining when I tortured your step-father." At the tightening of her jaw, he said, "You knew what I was when we made our deal, Elena. I have never pretended to be otherwise. Not in our interactions together away from prying eyes."

"I know," she whispered at last, then sat up, pulling her knees to her chest.

He curled around her, hands running down her arms. "I'll give you time, doll, but my patience is not endless. Eventually, you'll give in." She didn't need to respond as he pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

Soon thereafter, they returned to wander the village more, primarily spending time looking at books. It was getting close to dinner when Tom finally walked her back, expecting her to put her things in her dorm before coming back so he could escort her to the Great Hall. As she set down the bag of sweets, she frowned. The rose he'd had her carry all day had been placed in it earlier, but it had changed. At some point, Tom had turned the petals a brilliant orange, almost vermillion, and the color blazed to her eyes.


	29. Chapter 29

He hadn't tried to get her alone since her birthday thankfully. The flowers had all faded away, but the morning after they'd finally wilted, she stepped out of the common room to see Tom standing there with a rose as bright as the one he'd left her with before. He smirked when her eyes lit on it, holding it out to her. "Be wary of the thorns," he said, before stooping to kiss her hair.

Elena nodded and took it in her left hand, her right going to Tom's arm.

She avoided the eyes of those around her as they walked, the people who would smile to see such a couple, or whisper about how romantic it all was. She hated it. Couldn't they see that? She was exhausted, not just from her usual sleeplessness, but also because of the nightmares.

They were a blend of things she may have remembered, or thought she remembered, from her visions, the two times Tom had seen fit to punish her, and her cursed imagination.

Last night, she'd been bleeding from her mouth, blood pouring down her chin and over her chest, so that her skirt clung to her body with the sticky, cloying liquid. She tried to make it stop, cupped her hands under her face, but it flooded over. And Tom was watching it all with fire in his eyes, laughing that strange, high laugh.

That hadn't been the worst dream by far.

She mostly picked at her breakfast, though she knew she needed to eat more. She'd dropped weight in the past month, and she hadn't much to spare to begin with. When Tom stood from the Slytherin table, she rose as well and met him at the doors.

"Are you well, pet?" he asked, to which she nodded. "You're looking peaky. You need to eat more."

"Yes, Tom," Elena murmured.

He frowned, pulling her to the side, and tilting up her chin so she would look at him. "You need to stop pouting eventually, Elena; it isn't attractive. It's also immature."

She stared up at him blankly. "I'm sorry."

"If you keep behaving like this, people are going to wonder what's wrong with you. Perhaps they'll think I'm even mistreating you." He quirked a brow. "I will not have that."

A part of her she'd tried to suppress wondered at that unbelievably. He was upset with her for being depressed after his torture session wherein he'd had the boys— at least one of whom she thought was a friend— Cruciate her. He didn't like that she was trying her best to be perfectly obedient and nothing else, lest she incur his wrath? Didn't like that she was tired and lacked an appetite?

For one brief second, Elena wondered if all of her secrets were worth this price, but her da's sallow face flashed before her eyes and the thought passed. She couldn't do anything until she had the means to take care of him. Perhaps once she was out of Hogwarts, had a steady income, she could manage. For now, she needed certain secrets kept.

Tom's dark eyes bored into her and she wondered what he could read on the surface. His lips twitched and his hand slid up her jaw line, combed through her hair. He leaned forward and pressed his forehead to hers. "Things would be so much simpler if you just let go a little. I'll take care of everything; all you have to do is be a good little doll." He studied her closely. "There will be no more pain, no more violation, just pleasure and power. Can you do that?"

His voice was low, warm, hypnotic. The serpent must have sounded like that to Eve. And how apt was that, considering who Tom Riddle really was. She'd heard at her da's church that the Devil was once God's favorite and most beautiful angel. Whatever he had been, the potential for evil had been there all along.

He wasn't going to allow her to retreat inside herself; eventually he'd do something to punish her. She had to either endure that, or pull herself up and face the situation at hand. She wasn't a Gryffindor, she wasn't brave or strong or anything like that. Still, this was temporary. All things were temporary. She could endure.

Tom still staring at her expectantly, and she thought back to his question and nodded. "I can," she said at last.

"Good girl." He brushed his lips over hers, then continued leading her to their first class.

Double Transfiguration. She knew by now it was the least favorite class of Tom's cohort. Dumbledore apparently mistrusted Tom and kept watch as best he could. Tom despised him in return. The professor had never been anything but kind to Elena, so she usually stayed silent when the Slytherins muttered about him to themselves.

Tom pulled her toward the back, the opposite of his preference in most classrooms, and she sat beside him, laying out her notetaking gear. She nearly jumped out of her seat when the young man's hand laid over her thigh, but he merely smiled at her when she turned to him inquisitively.

He kept it there the whole class period, even when Professor Dumbledore passed back one of their essays. The older man had glanced between the two of them, bright blue eyes considering Elena carefully before moving on.

When class ended, he called out, "Miss Vablatsky, could you stay for a moment? There was something I wanted to discuss with you." Tom hung back beside her as the rest of the students trickled out, and Dumbledore favored them with one of his small, sad smiles. "She will be along shortly."

Dark eyes darted to her and she nodded. "I'll be fine." Tom nodded in return and stalked out of the classroom.

The door closed silently behind him, and Elena found herself suddenly alone with the professor whom she'd never spoken with outside of class or holiday mealtimes.

"Sit, please," he offered, conjuring up a squishy purple chair behind the desk, two feet from his seat. She sat gingerly, legs crossed at her ankles. "You must be a bit confused as to why I asked you to stay." At her agreement, he sighed. "You have always seemed like a rather private girl, Miss Vablatsky. I understand the desire to keep to oneself. I, too, have had my fair share of troubles." He stared at her so earnestly that she found herself wringing her hands in her lap. His blue, blue eyes bored into hers not unlike the way Tom's did, but there was a kindness to him. "When you came back from break, I confess I was heartened to see you looking so well… but I was worried about the company you chose to keep. And now, you've become less— less yourself of late, and I worry."

"Oh," she said. She had no idea what to think, much less how to respond. He was concerned for her. Elena hadn't realized the professor noticed her at all outside when she raised her hand to answer, or the essays she turned in. He was one of the few who had ever spoken of her reticence. And he seemed to empathize.

Dumbledore watched her with those sorrowful eyes, scanning over her face, her nervous hands. He reached out and laid one leathered, warm hand over hers where they fretted. "Do you need help?"

"Oh," she said again, suddenly feeling hot and strange. She wasn't afraid necessarily, but she was overwhelmed, uncertain, and suddenly tumbling inside of herself as her eyes stung.

"I'm sorry I never reached out sooner. I thought, perhaps, you felt you were dealing with whatever it was in your own way." There was the lightest sheen of sweat on his hand, and she wondered if he was nervous, too. "If that was wrong, if it caused you more harm—"

"No," she said at last. "No, that's what I wanted." Some of her tears escaped where she'd been trying to keep them locked up, sliding down her face. "I— that has been, been dealt with, as much as it can be." Elena nodded to herself, as though she needed the reassurance.

"Then, this recent turn," the man hesitated, "is it, I have to ask, you understand, is it Tom?"

She blinked, more errant tears falling through her lashes as she did, and looked up at him. She hadn't even realized she'd been staring at her hands. "What?"

"I know he can be persuasive," Dumbledore said. "He's an intelligent, gifted young man." He pursed his lips, as though unsure of the reception his next remark would have. "But I fear that he is not the harmless boy he seems."

Her heartbeat began to thump more powerfully, so she could feel it in her throat. He knew something. Elena could see it in his eyes. They were searching her, communicating something even as he sought something else in return. She thought back to Tom's high, cold laugh, to the way he'd stared down at her when she'd begged him, and abruptly shut her eyes, shaking her head. "I know what he is."

Dumbledore's hand tightened infinitesimally on her own. "Do you need help?" he repeated.

Her eyes batted open and she observed him, trying to see the man past the professor who had given her lessons and lectures since she was eleven years old. He looked as tired and she felt, and Elena unexpectedly recalled headline from the newspapers calling for him to duel Grindewald, for him to do something about Dark Wizard plaguing Europe. He'd told her he'd had his fair share of troubles, and she believed him. She could see it written in his face. He had borne so much and would bear more still.

And he knew. He knew about Tom, or had some inkling. He seemed to be the only one who did. He had no idea what mess she'd gotten herself into, but he was offering help.

He looked like he could use help himself.

The thought that she wasn't the only one, that someone else, someone with power and strength knew that Tom Riddle was a snake waiting to strike buoyed her unexpectedly. She wasn't alone; Dumbledore was watching. He was here if she needed him.

The hand he wasn't holding laid atop the back of his. "Not yet," she told him, speaking of understanding, hope, and determination with her eyes.

Dumbledore nodded. "Thank you, Miss Vablatsky."

"Elena," she corrected.

"Elena, then." He patted her hand one more time before extracting his own. "Thank you for taking the time to talk with me, Elena."

"Of course, professor. Thank you." She stood and began walking toward the door, then paused and spun to face him again. "Everyone is calling on you to end this war, professor." He watched her, brows furrowed. "It's a lot to expect of one man. I just wanted to tell you," she said, biting her lip as she considered her next words. "I wanted to tell you that I have faith in you."

"Daughter of the famed seer." He smiled. "Did you have a vision."

Elena shook her head. "I don't need visions to have faith in you, Professor Dumbledore. That's the point of faith. You know something no one can tell you is true, and you believe it."

Tom was awaiting her in the hallway, much as she expected. She took his arm and nearly smiled at him.

"What did he want?" Tom asked.

"He wanted to see if I was alright," she said simply.

"Is that all?"

Elena did smile at him then. "I think he's going to duel Grindewald soon." He didn't seem to know how to respond to that.

NOTES:

With this we are halfway to the end.


	30. Chapter 30

They were in the abandoned classroom each working on something for one class or another when Tom thought to ask. "Elena." Her head snapped up, eyes pulling out of the land of academia to refocus on him. "Have you ever had a prophecy about Grindewald?"

She looked taken aback, but answered promptly, "Not that I know of." The girl stared into the distance with her lower lip sucked into her mouth as she thought. After a moment, she said carefully, "I think, maybe I have." At his questioning brow, she continued, "My early prophecies? The ones drawn on the walls. I remember a man with fair hair and strange eyes. One was black and one was white. I remember because the walls weren't white, and I'd used so much of the color that flecks from my crayon were piled on the floor. There was one where he was amid this black swirl, just standing as it engulfed everything around it." She shook the memory from her head and turned her attention back to Tom. "I think it was him, from what I've seen in the Prophet. I haven't the faintest what it means."

Tom considered her and what she'd told him. He hadn't deemed anything other than his own rise to power important enough for the girl to prophesy, but that had clearly been a mistake. There was a Dark Lord currently on the move, and who knew what else was going on in the world or would happen that would warrant a vision.

"Have you had any other visions lately?" Elena shook her head, and he sighed. "I want you to tell me everything you can remember. Write it down and give it to me tomorrow. Every prophecy, mind you."

"Our agreement was only pertaining to those about you."

He stared at her baldly, caught between wondering at the audacity and amusement that she was finally showing a bit more fire again. "Not anymore."

Elena exhaled loudly but went back to her assignment.

His pet seer seemed a bit better, more like herself. While Tom appreciated the unhesitating obedience she'd developed and relished the way she quaked when he touched her, it was bad for his reputation to have his girl acting like a kicked puppy. Moreover, a part of him enjoyed her as she was. He'd found through trial and error that people who learned to obey were far more useful than those forced to submission.

Smirking as he thought of the way she'd felt beneath him on their little date, he swept his fingers up her arm, traipsing them down her back, over her side, to settle on her thigh. Elena stiffened, but didn't react otherwise.

He'd always had a gift for sniffing out truth, reading it in the eyes of others; Elena was no exception. For all her protestations, she found him attractive, just as nearly every other woman (and not a few men) who'd seen him since he hit puberty. She would eventually give in, even knowing how he thrilled in violence and subjugation.

As his followers finished their work and drifted out, his hand teased over the material of her skirt. He drifted higher, closer to her center, luxuriating in the warmth there. He rubbed small circles on what he could reach of her inner thigh, pressed tightly together as her legs were. He could tell the girl was nearing the end of her revisions, and he signaled to Nott and Avery that they should take their leave.

Elena looked up from her work as the two stood. "Done already?" she asked.

"Er, yeah," Alfred muttered. "I'm a bit tired. I'm at a good stopping place for the night." Nott nodded beside him.

"Oh, maybe I should get to bed as well," she said.

"Don't be silly." Tom pressed his palm into her leg. "I see at least three paragraphs that need revising, and this is due first thing in the morning."

Elena scowled at him before remembering herself, face smoothing into placidity. She nodded and turned to the two leaving Slytherins. "Goodnight, then."

As the door clicked shut, he waved to lock and ward it, and pounced on her, a hand in her neatly charmed curls even as the one on her leg danced up to hold the curve of her waist. "What—oh." His lips were on her throat, sucking just under her ear. He pulled back to study her red face and hazy eyes, then leaned forward to suck her bottom lip into his mouth. Tom had the urge to bite it every time she did, both to punish her for the tell and to taste the coppery tang often brought to the surface by the action. He was much harsher than she was herself and he leaned back with it still between his teeth until it was pulled taut. When he released it, it was deliciously plump and red.

He loosened her tie then, fingers wandering to unbutton her top while the navy and bronze silk lay limp and loose around her throat. When Tom slipped his hand over the top of one of her breasts, she came back to herself and tried to pull away. One hand was still in her hair and Tom chuckled darkly, tightening his fist to emphasize his control.

"Come now, doll. Aren't you enjoying yourself?"

Her wide eyes were caught between lust and panic. "We- we're in a classroom."

"I've ensured we won't be interrupted," he said, the hand not in her hair running over her forearm before encircling her slender wrist. Her dominant hand now captive, the panic threatened to overwhelm the lust. "Tch. Don't start squirming yet, love, we haven't even gotten to the fun part."

She vainly twisted her hand around in his grasp, her other planting itself on his chest to push at him. How the little creature thought she'd overpower him he had no idea. The hand in her curls tickled down her neck and pushed at her blouse before he lowered his head to nibble at the spot shoulder met throat. Her gasp was delightful, and he tugged at her bra to reveal one of her soft breasts completely, immediately sucking the peak into his mouth, teasing her with a swirl of his tongue, the hard edge of his teeth just sinking into the pliant flesh.

"Tom, you," she breathed, words coming slowly. "You have to stop."

He removed his mouth from her nipple with an audible pop, a trail of saliva breaking from his lips. "Why's that?" With her hair tangled from his fingers, her pale skin flushed to her chest, bottom lip swollen and clothes all askew, she looked wonderfully debauched. But her eyes held an irritating clarity that said she would insist on ending the night. She pursed her lips and crossed her arms over her chest, hands rubbing her forearms nervously.

Tom released her with disgusted sneer. "Go runaway to your tower, sweetheart. Keep yourself warm with the knowledge that your virtue is intact, and you're a good girl who doesn't let boys suck on your tits and feel you up under worktables." He rolled his eyes and made a shooing motion with his hand. "I'll just have to find relief elsewhere."

She started righting herself while he spoke, but froze at the last. "You're not going to…"

"What, not willing to fuck me yourself, but unhappy if I find another willing witch?"

Elena breathed a sigh of relief and he realized what she'd meant. "I told you, I only play with willing girls," he emphasized, stroking a finger down her cheek. "And don't you worry, pet. No one will know you left me wanting. I'll make sure to obliviate who ever I choose."

"Why would you do that?"

Tom's mouth twitched wickedly. "They usually realize a little late they're in over their pretty little heads." He stood, neatening his uniform. "You'll forgive me if I don't walk you to your common room this evening, but curfew is in half an hour and I need to get going if I'm to find someone to finish what you started."

Her jaw tightened and she nodded, and Tom swept out of the room.

Three hours later, he stalked into his dorm room with that sated feeling he could only get from sex and power. He strode toward a bed with a sleeping figure sprawled across it and tapped where the shoulder should be. "Rad." The figure started, waking with a groan. As Lestrange swam up from unconsciousness, Tom said, "I've left a present for you in the usual spot."

A lazy grin spread over the other's face. "Is it—"

"No." Tom rolled his eyes. "She's still playing the nun. It's that little Hufflepuff who's been after me. Hornby. Poor girl has had a hell of a night," he drawled. "She could use a little comfort."

Lestrange nodded and that glint of cruelty was already in his eyes. "How bad off is she?"

Tom shrugged. "She'll need a little healing before you send her off to bed, in addition to repairing what ever damage you do."

"And what should I plant in place of the memories, my lord?" Always the polite one when his monster was being fed, Rad.

"Nightmares maybe. Horrific nightmares of being used by demons." Tom's eyes flashed red as he said it.


	31. Chapter 31

Tom Riddle was in a good mood. Thus, Elena was on edge. Her eyes darted around the Great Hall, trying to find girls who looked like they'd had a rough night, or figure out who might be missing. She needed to pay more attention to her fellow students. Thus far, no one from her own year seemed off. She knew him well enough to dismiss anyone fourth year or younger, but that left far too many students vulnerable.

Elena peered over at the Slytherin table again. Lestrange sat next to Tom and grinned like a cat who'd just had his canary when he made eye contact with her. He even winked.

Her stomach flipped unpleasantly, appetite vanishing as she recalled what Tom had said about the other man the night of her torture. She once more began scanning the tables, hoping she could figure out who had endured their attentions. Elena could only hope they'd healed the girl before destroying the memories. Realizing her search was fruitless, she sighed and made her way toward the doors to await the Slytherins.

"Good morning, sweetheart." Tom tugged her into an embrace and planted a sensual, gentle kiss on her lips. "You're looking a little peaky. Did you have trouble sleeping?"

"I slept fine, thank you," she bit out. "But Lestrange looks a touch tired."

"He's a little worn out," Tom agreed. "He's been putting in a lot of hours lately, you know. Quidditch."

She hummed but said nothing.

"You disapprove?" He held out his arm, which she took, and the group began its trek through the halls.

"Yes."

Laughter tinged his voice as he said, "You had the opportunity to help last night. You're the one who chose to forgo it."

She tensed. "Would you have thrown me to Lestrange afterward as well?"

"What's that?" The demon himself stepped beside her and leered. "I heard my name. You called, love?"

Tom stroked her hand and said, as though it should comfort her, "I told you I wouldn't give you away until I'm done with you. I don't think that'll take just one night."

"Sad you missed out last night?" the other asked. "You'll have more in the future."

Elena glared back and forth at them both but settled on Lestrange as she ground out, "Not with you."

He stroked a finger through her hair, still radiating violent lust. "Don't be too sure of that."

Something in his eyes caused her to retreat closer to Tom before she could stop herself and the head boy chuckled, sliding his arm around her waist and kissing the top of her head. "He's just being playful, sweetheart. He's in a good mood. It's when he's brooding that he's dangerous."

"Why's that?" she asked hesitantly.

"That means he cares more about hurting you than fucking you." Tom planted another kiss on her hair and chuckled as her face paled.

The day had finally arrived. Seventh year students turned up at breakfast with dark circles around their eyes and books in hand; most of them, anyway. Not Tom Riddle. He was well-rested, refreshed. It was unfair, seeing as he would sit eleven exams. He hadn't even taken all eleven courses but had somehow wheedled his way into the testing.

Elena was taking seven exams herself and expected to do well enough on them. For once she was going to use the full breadth of her knowledge and depth of her intellectual capabilities. Tom had gotten onto her about that a few months ago, urging her to stop sabotaging herself in classes. While she hadn't been proverbially shooting herself in the foot anymore, she still held back. It wouldn't do to suddenly start outperforming herself; it might make people suspicious.

However, she wanted to do well on her NEWTs. This would determine what career paths were open to her. Currently, she was eyeing a low position in government; it was stable income and had benefits. She could work her way up and study wizarding law in the meantime. She had recently started considering a career in law, perhaps as part of a team to fight court cases. Elena herself did not want to perform in a courtroom, but she enjoyed research and debate. She would make an excellent part of the team.

Their first exam was Charms, and the written test was surprisingly easy compared to the study material Tom had been foisting onto his cohort. She wrote twelve feet on the Protean charm itself and developed a theoretical usage for it. It was a clever spell, and Tom had fixated on it in particular for their preparations. Unlike the OWLs, NEWTs exams were much more focused; there were five separate subjects for the essay portion and it was random which students received which. However, NEWTs required far great thoroughness in each essay.

The practical had not gone quite as smoothly for her, her Disillusionment not as complete and robust as it should have been. Unless it was pitch black and the person was only half paying attention, she was sure she'd be spotted using it. However, her confundus had greatly improved, and her revealing charm was strong. Stronger than poor Avery's, who she could just see from her exam post. Tom would no doubt grill them about their results later. He had made quite the show of the practical. Not only had he sealed the room he'd been asked to, but he then made it utterly impossible to find, let alone get into.

He was insufferable.

Transfiguration on Tuesday went better; the essay compared transfiguring sentient non-humans to humans. The practical was on themselves, of course. The only drawback was that her hair maintained its electric purple color for the rest of the evening.

"I rather like it," Tom had said as he bade her good night. "You can't hide with purple hair."

As she didn't have Herbology, her Wednesday was free.

Thursday was her weakest subject, Defense Against the Dark Arts. Elena had to admit Tom's assistance had buoyed her performance greatly. He was an excellent teacher, even if some of his motivational tactics were monstrous.

She had Ancient Runes Friday, and her weekend was spent entirely buried in books. Even Tom studied.

While Ancient Runes and Arithmancy both consisted only of a written portion, she felt as though her brain had melted upon their completion. The trickiest part of the Potions practical was timing; several students did not complete theirs. History of Magic (also only written) was nearly a break in comparison.

When the last Friday of the two week examination came, she felt as though she'd run a marathon in her mind. Elena slept through breakfast and didn't rise until only half an hour before the Great Hall would open for lunch. Bathing, pulling her hair up in a lazy bun, and dressing was about all she cared to do before leaving the dormitory. She still felt half-asleep as she plopped into her usual spot at the table and grabbed a sandwich.

"Where have you been?"

Elena dragged her gaze up to meet Tom's dark eyes. "I was having a lie-in to celebrate the end of the tests." He nodded and slid into the seat across from her, taking the pudding from her plate.

"How did you perform?" he asked expectantly.

"I can hardly know that; we won't get the results for months," she retorted, slightly annoyed that he'd taken some of her food. She hadn't even invited him to sit with her.

He arched a brow. "I'm sure you have some idea."

"Er." She thought through the last two weeks, brows furrowing as she listed her exams in her head. "Well enough. Certainly nothing below an Acceptable, though should be mostly Exceeds Expectations, maybe a few Outstandings."

"You could have done better," he said evenly. "Had you been applying yourself throughout your years, I'm sure you'd have higher scores."

"Yes, well, I didn't."

"Don't get snippy," Tom said, voice flattening in a way that caused the hair to raise on her arms. "I'm not annoyed with you if that's how you've scored. I just know you could have achieved more."

"No need to ask how you did. We could all hear the praises of the examiners during your practicals." She frowned at a stray thought. "What exam didn't you sit?"

"I should think that would be obvious." He flashed his straight, white, perfect teeth. "Muggle Studies."

Elena blinked and realized it was obvious. Her mind had just become mush from the studying and writing and studying and writing again for days on end.

As she rose to leave, Tom's hand snatched her forearm. "We have a meeting tonight. I'd like you to come a bit early. I will be at your common room at seven." She nodded.


	32. Chapter 32

His obedient pet. Upon entering the dungeon room where he held his meetings, Tom conjured up a winged chair and sat back against the green and cream velvety material. Elena stood awkwardly before him, still in her school uniform minus the robe and vest. He appraised her slowly, from the neat bun her pale brown hair was swept into to the patent leather of her Mary Janes, then held out his hand expectantly. A smile crossed his lips as she placed her own on it and allowed herself to be pulled between his knees.

"Have you thought about what you'd like to do after you graduate?" he asked, thumb rubbing circles on the back of her hand before releasing it.

By the startled expression, he assumed that was not at all what she expected. "Yes, some." When he just stared at her, she went on. "I think I would like to go into law, become a solicitor eventually."

"Really? You are so honest though."

She rolled her eyes. "Yes, well. I'm not going to be the one in the courtroom."

Tom nodded, then ran his fingers down her side. Elena startled slightly, laying her hand on his thigh for balance. When realized what she'd done, she tried to pull back as though she'd been burned, but he caught her small hand, laid his own over it. "Don't," he said. "I like when you touch me." He tugged her closer, encircling her waist and leaning forward to touch his lips to her ear. She was already trembling, and he smiled before placing a small kiss on her cheek.

"Is this why you called me here?" she said in an oddly strained voice. "I would hate for you to get yourself in a heated state again, especially right before a meeting."

Tom sighed and sat back again. "No, and you knew that. Stop being a brat." He waved a hand and his journal flew into it. "I wanted to discuss your future with you. I've already done so with the others. Based on your recent performance in classes and what I suspect your NEWTs scores will be, becoming an attorney is a solid choice. Depending on what firm you join— you will be joining a law team? Good— that could prove advantageous for our goals. I'll expect you to join a team with someone who has political potential, influence. What?" He tipped her face toward him, taking in the thin line of her lips.

"You seem to have forgotten that I am not one of your Knights," she said evenly. "I will not need you to keep to our— our deal after Hogwarts, Tom. With a job, I should be able to provide for my father without Cassandra's assistance."

Tom rolled his jaw, considering both her words and her face. "You forget that's not your only secret."

"If you come forward about my prophecies, I come forward about what you are."

He laughed, a short, sharp sound that caused the girl to flinch in his embrace. "Oh, sweetheart. You would have made a dreadful Slytherin if you think that'll deter me. Afterall, that you knew and did nothing makes you complicit in my crimes."

"You cannot possibly expect me to—"

"How will you reveal me for what I am when you seem to have forgotten yourself?" He held her chin firmly, voice going flat, and her eyes widened. "Do you need another lesson? Hm?"

"No," she breathed, only belatedly adding, "my lord."

"Good." He released her face and began paging through the journal on his lap, one arm still holding her in place. As he reached the page he was looking for, Tom stroked his finger over the figure eight of the serpent inked onto it.

The girl peered over it curiously, apparently recovered from her moment of fear. "What's that?"

"It's my Mark. Do you like it?" he asked, smirking as her eyes traced it.

"I didn't know you could draw. It's rather dark, isn't it?"

"Well, it is called the Dark Mark, pet. I'm going to place it on my followers tonight, a mark of their loyalty to me and my cause." He watched as she puzzled over it, the notes in his neat writing along the margins. "It's a living tie through which I will be able to summon them to me."

"How does that—ah, the Protean charm?" Elena learned into him, frowning over his notes and the design. "You're designing wards attuned to its presence as well? How long have you been developing this?"

Tom snapped the journal closed, relishing her slight jolt. "A while. But you never answered my question, sweetheart. Do you like it?"

The frown had returned. He nearly grinned as it morphed into disbelief. "No."

"No?" Tom feigned surprise. "No, what?"

Elena glared, pulling her hand from where she'd obediently kept it to cross her arms over her chest, stepping back. "I will not let you put that on my body."

He encircled both of her wrists. "You're under the assumption you have a choice."

"No, Tom." She shook her head, firmly tugging against his hold. "You have already tied me tightly to you without my consent. If you put that on me, I cannot ever go back. You'll remove all choice I have. I may as well truly be your doll."

"There was never a chance of you going back, Elena."

Her eyes bored into his, the blue brighter from her distress. Her pulse was a thready tattoo against his thumbs. "Please." Elena's voice broke at the plea. "Please don't do this. I've been obedient, haven't I? I've done what you require. If you do this, I…" she trailed off as tears threatened to overwhelm her.

"What do you offer in return?" Tom said after a moment of consideration. Her mouth opened, a furrow between her brows. "You can't expect me to agree without something in it for me, Elena." He could see her working to think of something but coming up empty. A note of panic had entered her eyes. Tom pulled her closer again, releasing her wrists to slide his hands around her slight form. "I am not needlessly cruel; I will not make you take the Mark tonight." Elena let loose a shaking sigh of relief. "In the meantime, you are going to continue being such a good girl, and you will think on what it is you can offer in exchange for my kindness. Is that amenable?"

"Thank you."

"Don't I take good care of you, pet?" At her nod, Tom drew her onto his lap, her legs across his own and feet hanging over the arm of the chair. "You won't speak of this little deal to anyone. The men don't need to know, understood?"

"Yes."

He kissed her gently, knowing there wasn't time for more. It was unfortunate seeing as she was pliable and feeling grateful for his clemency. Tom let the idea of using that to his advantage go for now, stroking over the top of her head and guiding her to lie against his chest.

A sharp knock at the door drew his attention and Tom slipped out his wand to lift the wards from the room. "Off my lap, pet," he said. She clambered off him and stood uncertainly, smoothing her hands over her skirt. "Sit here," and he conjured a little stool for her to sit by his legs. Once situated, he called out, "Enter."

His punctual band of followers marched in and lined up before him.

"Gentlemen, welcome. Tonight, our last night as students at this fine institution, I have decided it is time to bond us all as, well, a family of sorts. You five and the currently absent Mulciber have proven yourselves truer than mere followers. As such, you should be set apart. The honor I bestow upon you tonight is one only the worthiest will bear. As the first, you deserve recognition. Under this Mark the world shall know fear. And by this Mark, all will know you as the lieutenants of Lord Voldemort. Morsmordre."

Green light shot into the air before him and manifested into a skull, the jaw falling open and a hissing serpent curling out of it. The five followers all stared in fascination until another wave of yew caused it to dissipate.

"You will all bear my Mark on your left arm, your sinister side. With it, we will all be bound to one another. You will be able to call to me through it and I will be able to do the same. Who among you would like to be the first?"

Five sets of eyes gazed back at him, caught between shock and awe. Dolohov was the first to pull himself out of it, stalking forward even as he unbuttoned his cuff and rolled up his sleeve to reveal the expanse of his left forearm. "My lord," he said, kneeling as he extended his arm out, palm up.

Tom smiled down at the young man and wrapped his left hand around the wrist presented to him. He drew his wand in a figure eight over the pale flesh, murmuring the incantation as he slid the tip over and over. Dolohov's neck strained, jaw clenching as he groaned in pain. Despite the deep burn Tom knew he felt, the sixth-year student remained still, only balling his fingers into a tight fist as something twisted and bubbled beneath his skin. It was as though the Mark were bleeding out of him to form there, blackening his skin. By the time it was over, sweat had broken out across the youth's brow.

"Welcome to the Death Eaters, Antonin."


	33. Chapter 33

Tom had her on his lap again. She abhorred it but had meekly climbed atop his legs when he'd patted his thigh. It wasn't strictly allowed, but it was also the only way to fit the seven of them in the train compartment. Her hair was loose, and Tom's fingers were idly playing with the strands, occasionally sliding over her throat or tugging with pressure just this side of pain. She was staring out the window and trying to ignore the young men as they chattered on about their next steps until she heard her name.

"My lord, why has Elena not been Marked?"

Her head snapped forward, staring into Dolohov's keen black eyes. Tom's chest rumbled against her back as he chuckled. "Really, Antonin? One does not Mark one's pet. Besides, Elena has not even come close to earning such favor, have you, pet?" Her cheeks flushed, but she shook her head. Tom was practically purring with pleasure.

"My apologies, I did not mean to question you," the younger man said. "I was merely curious."

"You're fine, Antonin," he responded smoothly. "I can understand wondering why I would include someone not worthy of our brotherhood among us; that is precisely why she'll be wed to one of you. Even should she not prove her loyalty, she will be tied to us via another type of bond."

Lestrange's gaze wandered to her and Elena shifted uncomfortably.

"About that," Antonin continued. "I hope I will be considered for that task. I believe I would be well-suited."

"Oh?" said Tom.

"No offense to Lestrange, but there is a reason I don't have a reputation for violence despite my natural inclination," he said. "Rad can get carried away; I control my appetites."

Elena gaped at him. He was putting in a request to claim her like a— a— Like a pet whose owner intends to pass it to a friend. It was an unnervingly apt comparison. As if sensing her thought, Tom slid his right hand over her knee, the pads of his fingers pressing into her inner thigh. "Thank you, Antonin. I will consider your request. Rosier, do you have anything to say on the subject?"

The rising seventh year blinked rather owlishly. "Er, no, my lord."

"Well, there is plenty of time to decide which of you is best suited. I haven't even told Corvus about the plan yet." At that, Elena stiffened. His hand massaged her thigh as though to comfort her as he said, "Are you alright, doll?"

"Of course," she murmured, turning back to the window.

Tom pulled her hair over her shoulder, trailing his lips over her neck. He wouldn't do more in front of his Death Eaters, but Elena had to force herself to remain calm. Once the train arrived, she would be free. Tom already knew she planned to visit her father and expected her to owl him once she had offers to negotiate law apprenticeships. She would not. By the time he realized she wouldn't be doing that, Elena planned to have a job and her own place somewhere he didn't know about. She'd also decided to move her father to a wizarding medical facility. The fees were high, but she would figure it out.

If there was a God, perhaps gods, out there, perhaps this would be the last time Elena would have to play the doll.

She could hope.


	34. Chapter 34

**PART TWO**

"Mullens, got a job for you." Elena looked up from the stack of old paperwork she'd been sorting and took the file from the portly wizard. "You'll need to leave the office for this. And you'll definitely want to wear a robe."

She frowned. "Going somewhere a bit traditional?"

"Going somewhere showing any skin is not advisable," Edgar responded. "Knockturn Alley. You need to go to Borgin and Burkes and ask to see their customer files. Anything related to the people or items in these files is something we need copies of."

Elena skimmed the pages within. There were pictures of some of the items, date ranges, descriptions, names and aliases. She nodded. "I'll see what I can do."

"Atta gal, Elle. I'd have given this to Prewitt, big strapping lad he is, but he's a bit confrontational, and the gents who own the shop can be touchy. This is a top priority. This information could help exonerate Regulus Black."

She nodded. "I'll get right on it, sir."

"I knew I could count on you, doll," he said, beaming down at her.

Elena stiffened at the pet name but returned his smile best she could. The man didn't mean anything by it; he was just overly affectionate. Still, she hated hearing that word. She took a deep breath and went back to the documents.

The Black case was high profile and they'd had to fight to get it. That meant they also had to fight to keep it. Regulus Black had been spending the evening with Evander Gamp, one of his older second cousins, when the other man was found dead by a house elf. Aurors determined Gamp had died under suspicious circumstances and detained Black. Black proclaimed his innocence, said that Gamp had been showing him an assortment of dark items the evening before, but the DMLE had decided there was no way the curse causing the death could have come from a magical item; none of the objects present seemed to fit the cause of death. When they found a lovely cursed broach known to belong to Gamp (having come from an ancestor the two cousins shared) among Black's things, motive was set. Black insisted it was a gift, nothing more.

Thus, the search to find any information about dark items that could mummify a corpse overnight.

She stood from her desk, stretching to awaken the body that had been behind the desk for three hours already. It was an unusually warm April and she did not appreciate having to throw her robe back on. She typically only wore it from the apparition point to the office, as she rarely left. She smoothed her hands over the charcoal pencil skirt and neatened the ruffles at the collar of her blouse before throwing the black fabric over it all. She fastened it up to hide the muggle friendly attire and, after a moment of hesitation, charmed a hood over it and strode out the door toward the apparition point.

She apparated to Diagon Alley, which was far safer than the adjacent alley where she was headed. Elena pulled up her hood as she neared the darker region and stretched for every millimeter of height her leather kitten heels would allow. She hated the things, but they were surprisingly comfortable and practical for the office.

The shop that was her destination was at 13B, easy enough to find. Even had she not know what sign to look for, the assortment of dark and strange objects on display would have clued her in. Elena was fairly certain that was a Hand of Glory in the window, a rather controversial item outside of Knockturn's shadows.

She steeled herself and opened the door, the bell above dinging that someone had entered.

The shop was surprisingly clean considering how dusty and obviously long untouched the window display was. One wall was lined with masks that seemed to stare down at her with their empty eyeholes. There were disturbing rusted implements hanging from the ceiling and the hair on the back of her neck stood as she lowered her hood, opened the robe, and turned in a circle around herself.

No one was at the counter, but she was sure whoever manned the store was aware of her entrance thanks to the bell, so she took the time to study a display of what she was sure were human bones.

Elena had studied the human body for certain projects at Hogwarts and was curious how many bones she could identify by site. The long, thick one was clearly the femur of someone far taller than herself. There were carpals from the hands, delicately curved rib bones, long and almost straight clavicles. She was fairly certain the tiny, sharp looking pieces were distal phalanxes. Spread among, between, under, around them all were teeth, some too pointed and long to be merely human.

"My, this is a surprise."

Elena sprang upright at the sound, having not heard anyone approach as she'd studied the bones. She turned slowly, heart pounding against her ribcage as she faced a tall man's chest. The man tipped her chin up toward him and she pulled away, staring firmly toward the door as she backed up. Her back hit the shelf and the bones thumped and rocked, and she began to sidle toward the exit.

"I don't think so, pet." Even as her hand darted toward the pocket of her robe, her wand flew into his hand. As she passed the shelves, his hands gripped her shoulders and he slammed her into the wall. "I'm hardly going to let you apparate away when you've only now returned to your proper place."

Her fingernails dug into the file in her left arm— the file. "I— I'm here on business, Tom."

"Are you, now? What business is that?"

She lifted the file. "I need to speak to Mr. Borgin or Mr. Burke."

"No."

"Tom." She ground her teeth slightly and finally looked up at him, surprised not to see murder written there. "I have a job to do."

His lips twitched. "Fine. Stay right here." He stepped away from her, eyeing her with interest before stalking into the back. A few moments later, an older and disgruntled looking man followed him back out. "I do apologize for this, Mr. Burke, but she insisted upon seeing you."

"Well, what is it?" he groused.

Elena cleared her throat and pasted on her best professional expression. "Good afternoon, Mr. Burke. I'm Elle Mullens," she began, gaze darting to Tom, who was staring back with one brow raised and his arms crossed as he watched, "an apprentice with Bones, Bones and Trelawney. I've been sent to confer with you about gaining access to your client records for—"

"No," Burke said.

"It would be of great help in the case for Regulus Black's—"

He snarled at her as he said again, "No."

"Mr. Burke—"

"I said—"

"Excuse me, sir," Tom's cultured tones cut in. "Perhaps we should hear out Miss… Mullens. If this is to help the Blacks, well, they have been loyal customers, have they not?"

Burke frowned, mulling over his words, then nodded. "Get on with it then."

Her eyes narrowed toward the young man, but she began again. "I'm an apprentice with the firm Bones, Bones and Trelawney. We are representing Regulus Black as his defense council in the murder trial of one Evander Gamp. Mr. Black maintains that Mr. Gamp owned several cursed objects and had not kept them properly secured, and that that was the cause of his demise. If we could locate a cursed object that might have caused a death in the manner of Mr. Gamp's, we may be able to demonstrate reasonable doubt in favor of Mr. Black's innocence. As your shop is a highly esteemed purveyor of such goods, we thought it best to enlist your assistance." She took a breath, wetting her lips before continuing. "We would like copies of your customer and inventory records to—"

"No copies. Our discretion is one of the main reasons we are so highly esteemed."

"If—"

"Could I suggest a compromise?" Both turned to him. "I know Miss Mullens from Hogwarts. I've known her to keep the confidences of others. Perhaps she may come here to personally look over the ledgers herself and only take back pertinent information?" Burke frowned. "Under my supervision, of course."

"How's that, girl?" asked the cantankerous old man.

She worried at the corner of the file nervously, chewing on her lip before she could remember herself and let it loose. "I, er, would have to speak to Mr. Bones about that."

"Floo call 'im. We haven't got all day."

She nodded at the shopkeeper but didn't move.

"Thank you, Mr. Burke. I'll take care of Miss Mullens from here," Tom said, taking her by the arm toward the fireplace. "Floo your bosses and we will work out a schedule. I'll expect you no less than three times a week, for four hours. You may research for the majority of the time, but we will need time to … catch up as well."

"I don't belong to you, Tom."

He wrenched her arm behind her back and fisted the bun at the back of her head. She grunted, leaning back to try and relieve the pain. "You seem to have forgotten who I am, sweetheart," he hissed against her ear, pulling her to her knees on the stone. "If you think anything has changed, you're mistaken. And I'll be too happy to correct you." He released her and she had to catch herself on her palms, skin jarring against the rough, cold stone. "Call your bosses."

Edgar Bones smiled questioningly at her from his desk. "Elle, is there a problem?"

"Erm, no, sir. Not exactly," she rectified. At his frown, she barreled ahead. "I've just spoken with Mr. Burke and he is willing to give us access to the records—"

"Excellent!"

"—but will only allow us to see them here, under the supervision of his, er, shop boy." Elena could practically feel Tom bracing angrily behind her. "We could come and take notes and bring pertinent information."

"Well," Edgar considered. "That is better than nothing. I suppose we'll have to do that. Are there any other terms?"

"Just discussing when would be agreeable for us all, sir," she said promptly.

"We need this information as quickly as possible, Elle. As much time as we can get," Edgar intoned. "I trust you to work out the details. If you're able to start today, that would be tremendous. Owl me or floo again with anything else."

She withheld a groan, having hoped the man would want her to come through and discuss everything first. And everything he'd said, Tom could hear behind her. "Of course, sir."

"That's our girl. I'll see you tomorrow morning, Mullens."

She ended the floo call and knelt back on her heels, eyes closed as she tried to process the situation. Chills spread over her skin as cold fingers gripped the back of her neck, pulling her toward him. Elena swallowed and opened her eyes to meet his own.

"How fortuitous," he drawled. "We will be able to catch up after all."


	35. Chapter 35

He leaned against the counter and watched the small girl—young woman now, he supposed, though she was such a little thing—trying to hide her fear as she cross referenced the information in her files with that of the aged shop ledger. He was slightly impressed that she managed to suppress the terror enough to continue with her work, though it wouldn't take much to break her composure. Indeed, as he trailed his fingers over the nape of her neck, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, shivering. He could feel the gooseflesh rising under his fingertips.

"I'm working," she said at last, in a tight tone.

"You've been at it for long enough, I think," he responded. "I'm about to officially close shop for the evening; it's time for us to talk."

He followed the hitching movement of her throat as Elena tried to maintain control over herself. "I should head home, actually. I have to report in tomorrow first thing, after all."

"No." Her head snapped up. "No, Elena. You will not be leaving quite yet. Not for some hours, I think. Your behavior these past ten months cannot pass unpunished. Changing your name back? Clever. And you moved your father."

Her jaw clenched. "I do not belong to you, Tom. Need I show you my bare forearm?"

Tom waved his wand, the sign on the door flipping over as it locked. Another few movements and it was warded securely. He knew Burke had already left for the evening, trusting the young man to handle the majority of their business. Once Tom had ensured a level of privacy, he summoned her wand to him and his free hand wound into the loose bun on the back of the girl's head, wrenching her back painfully. "Is that what you think?" he hissed into her ear, yew wood stroking down her corded throat. "That because I have been a kind master to you, allowing you to remain unmarked, I will allow your behavior to go uncorrected?"

"You—" her brows were tight together, pain clear in the lines of her face. "You hold nothing over me anymore, Tom. Our relationship is no longer—"

"Oh, no, pet. You forget I still know plenty of your secrets. You might not need to keep up the charade of being the perfect daughter, but you still keep quiet your little gift, don't you?"

She met his eyes in a show of strength Tom hadn't thought was in her. "I know your secrets too."

He laughed, hot breath harsh in her face. "Oh no, doll. You wouldn't dare come forward with that. You'd find yourself in trouble too, an accessory to my wrongdoing." He lowered his so he could run his nose against her cheek as he said, "If you were incarcerated, how would your dear daddy be taken care of?"

"I—"

"No." Tom released her, throwing her to the ground. "Stop trying to bluff, Elena. You're miserable at it." He considered, tapping his wand against his thigh. "You should have known your day of reckoning would come. No one disobeys Lord Voldemort. Not even you, pet. Crucio."

She managed one brutal scream before the pain overwhelmed even that ability, and she wheezed and whined through the agony. Her body was shaking, trembling, contorting into beautifully horrific shapes, limbs banging into the hard floor, cheek slapping so hard he could see her eyes roll back in her head through closed lids. It was lovely, the perfection of her torment not even ruined by the bitter scent now emanating the girl. Her expressive little hands were twisting, searching, and her nose started to bleed from knocking into her elbow. The blood only added to her appeal, though it stoked rather than soothed his fury.

After a long moment, he released the curse. Elena's broken sobs coughed out of her, her entire body seizing at each one. Tom paced forward to stand over her, sneering. "Pathetic. Look at you." He shook his head, pushing back errant curls as he straightened. "You could have avoided this."

Elena curled tighter into herself, uncaring of the mess the torture curse had caused.

"Do you have anything to say for yourself?" He knew she wouldn't be able to speak quite yet but taunting her brought a certain warmth to his chest. "No? I suppose I should clean you up, since you're incapable of even that, I'm sure. Scourgify." Another drop of blood slid from her nose, and as he pulled her arm from over her face he saw a little cut on her lip as well. Tom squatted down, stroking his thumb over the small wound. A smear of blood graced the pad of his digit. "Now, now, stop pouting. I'm sure you'll make up for your transgression in time."

He slid one arm under her head and pulled her up toward him. Her eyes were still squeezed shut, face still contorted. He licked his lips and lowered his face to hers, sucking on the wound at her lower lip, tongue darting out to taste her blood. The moan of pain from her elicited one of pleasure from him. As he deepened the kiss, tears started streaking over her face once more. Was there anything so delicious as a broken, sobbing woman? He was tempted to take her right there but pulled back with a groan. No, she may have broken the rules, but they were still immersed in the game.

"Oh, sweetheart." Tom drew her into his lap. "It will be alright. You'll need to be extra good to make up for your behavior, but in time everything will be as it was." It didn't comfort her of course, but it wasn't meant to. It was a warning. "I told you my Cruciatus was unlike anything you'd experienced before. I tried to avoid using it on you, but you forced my hand. I couldn't very well allow ten months of silence to pass with impunity, could I?" He placed another open-mouthed kiss on her lips to taste the copper of her blood again. "You'll be a good girl now, won't you?"

She choked on her own breath, coughing and spasming so hard in his lap that he had to steel himself. Eventually she calmed herself enough that she was able sputter out, "Please let me go. I won't—I won't tell anyone anything. I promise."

"I know you won't, sweetheart." He stroked his thumbs over her ribs soothingly. "Put I can't let you go. You're mine now. You understand that, don't you?" She started to sob again, and he hid his smile. "None of that, unless you're trying to start something. You know what your pain does to me." She stiffened abruptly in his lap, red eyes widening as color drained from her puffy face. Tom chuckled and tightened his hold on her. "Your punishment isn't over of course, but I can hardly torture you to madness. I expect you to owl me your address when you get home. If I have to find out on my own, I will be very displeased with you. Also, I'll be calling a meeting in the next few days and you will be in attendance. Antonin will be glad to see you. He asked after you once."

She remained limp in his arms even as he rubbed circles over her through her clothes, pressing the occasional kiss to her. She'd never reacted like other girls he seduced (at least at the beginning). They would melt and dig their hands into his hair and grope at him. It wasn't until he'd pushed past their narrow boundaries that they stopped wanting to touch him, and then they would fight or cringe or struggle. He quite liked having the freedom to stroke and caress his damaged toy at leisure. It would only get better once he'd completely broken her to his preferences.

He sighed and shifted her into a seated position on his lap. "We can continue this conversation later. I suspect you're worn out after such a hard day. Go home and take a hot bath, drink some tea, put yourself back together." Tom ran his fingers through the hair tangled limply around her face, lips twisted in a tender smile. He lapped at her broken skin one more time, then planted a soft kiss on her mouth. "I'll see you tomorrow, pet."


	36. Chapter 36

It was Saturday and Elena stood in front of her vanity mirror, staring at the sorrowful creature staring right back. She wished she could be stronger, but the weakness was written into her bones, etched on her skin, blazing out of her so anyone could see. It was no wonder she'd caught the eye of so many wolves; she was easy prey. Small, uncertain, frail. She'd spent the past almost year trying to build herself up and Tom Riddle had knocked her back to the start with a flick of his wrist.

Still, she hadn't completely reverted. She knew how to dress like someone with confidence now, as evidenced by her black pencil skirt and black high-collared blouse, neat hose and sensible black heels. Her hair was braided tightly in the hopes that it would be less likely to come loose should she be subjected to more torture. Her makeup was tasteful, understated, and mostly in place as a mask for her lack of control.

Over it all she threw on her traveling cloak, stalked to the fireplace, and floo'd to the shop.

Tom Riddle sat on the counter awaiting her, also dressed in unrelieved black. He surveyed her form and she could almost physically feel his eyes on her legs, hips, breasts. "You'll want to put up your hood and hold your cloak closed for a bit. I don't want to spoil your reveal." Elena nodded and stepped forward, taking his offered arm. His free hand skimmed over her waist beneath the cloak and she almost didn't realize when the tugging feeling in her core became the pull of apparition.

"A graveyard?" Elena stepped away and closed her cloak with fists on the inside. Around them were tombs and tombstones, marble angels. The white stone gleamed in the moonlight.

"It's a private place, fitting for my Death Eaters." He smirked and his fingertips stroked her cheeks before he pulled her hood forward and plunged her face into shadow. "The men should be arriving soon. It'll be nice to have the whole family together again, won't it?" He tapped the tip of her nose and backed away, checking a watch he'd hidden somewhere in his robes. As the first pop of apparition rang out, he nodded and put it away.

There was another pop and another, another. Far more than she'd expected. By the time it ended, there were nine men circling Tom, all falling to a kneel before him and all hiding their faces in their hoods.

"Rise, my Death Eaters. Rise and dispense with the hoods. We are all family here." They stood as one and lowered their hoods to reveal their faces. There was Nott, Dolohov, Rosier, Avery, Mulciber, Lestrange. She paused on Abraxas Malfoy's white hair shining like the marble in the night. He stood proudly among the other men. There were two others she didn't know.

"Welcome, gentlemen. I called this meeting as a reunion of sorts." He gestured toward her. "Our esteemed guest has been absent so long that I thought it best to have a reintroduction. Go on," he commanded.

Elena swallowed and pushed back the cloth, staring at each of the men in turn. Rad's face broke into a feral, hungry grin. Dolohov's eyes sparkled. Nott seemed… disappointed somehow. And Abraxas Malfoy frowned.

"This is Elena… Mullens. In her sixth and seventh years at Hogwarts, she was a part of my coterie. While she is not a Death Eater, you may consider her mine all the same, a pet of sorts." Lestrange laughed. "She is the illegitimate daughter of Cassandra Vablatsky." Understanding dawned on Malfoy's face, as though he hadn't placed her before now. She imagined he wouldn't have.

"Where has she been, my lord?"

"Upset you missed your chance with her, Rad?" The young man looked irritated but shook his head. "She's been hiding, playing the little mouse again. No worries; she's already had a taste of the Cruciatus as a part of her penance." He turned to her. "Radcliffe here is engaged to be married to a lovely Pureblooded French witch," he confided to the girl. "Though it looks like he might have preferred you."

"Perhaps when you're finished, my lord, I could still—"

"No." Tom's voice commanded silence. "I won't pass around our little pet like a toy, nor will I undermine the authority of whomever I place her with by borrowing her out. You'll have to ask her husband for that favor, Rad."

Elena was suddenly grateful both to her makeup and the night for hiding the flush of her cheeks. She knew better than to express her indigence; fighting against Tom's wishes especially in front of his minions was a good way to wind up screaming on the ground.

"Pardon, my lord," came the gruff voice of one of the men she did not recognize. "What's this about?"

"Ah, Travers. Forgive me. As I've said, Elena here is mine. I am man with particular needs, and I intend to break her to those. As she does not share our views, this would be the best way to make sure she understands her place, albeit in a way that is enjoyable for me. Once that is done, I'll give her over to one of you to ensure she remains secure. Can't allow an asset to fall into the wrong hands, can I?"

"And what is exactly is her value?" Malfoy's cultured tones quipped, adding a delayed, "my lord?" His eyes, an indistinguishable grey in the dark, danced over her impassively. Without a Pureblood name, it seemed she wasn't worth his regard. She whipped back her cloak and straightened under his scrutiny, refusing to be cowed because she bore a muggle name.

"Does it matter, Abraxas? I say she has value, and you should take my word as law." Tom stalked behind her and she stiffened, ignoring the urge to watch him. His hands alighted on her shoulders. "However, since you asked so politely, I will indulge you. Besides, some of your brothers already know. I would hate to cause a rift between your bonds."

Abraxas nodded and murmured, "Thank you, my lord." He had grimaced at Tom's early words to him, though he still watched Elena with something like disdain.

The tall man at her back stroked his hands down her biceps. "Elena here inherited her mother's gift. Imagine my surprise when I found she had written a prophecy about yours truly." The three new Knights— no, Death Eaters— now looked over her as though she'd only just appeared. "Ah, you see now. Does that fulfill your curiosity, Abraxas? Does her value meet your expectations?"

The pale man balked at that but stammered out his agreement.

"Good." Tom pulled her to lean against him and she could almost hear the mocking smile on his face as he said, "You're not yet engaged, are you, Brax?" The man sputtered, eyes bulging in disbelief. Tom chuckled. "Calm down. I'd rather hand her over to someone who appreciates her. Besides, I know you'd rather die childless than sully your line with a halfblood. Now, onto business. Rosier, Dolohov, how goes the recruiting?"

"Excellent, my lord," said Dolohov, tearing his eyes off the girl at last. "We have several prospects among the younger ones already. Rowle is an especially good candidate— you'll remember him, he was a new Prefect under you." At Tom's nod, he continued. "He would be ideal to keep recruiting once Ev and I have graduated. Younger students trust him."

One of Tom's hands lifted from her as he tapped his chin, considering. "Bring him to the next meeting. If you're considering him as your replacement at Hogwarts, it's time he moved to the next level."

"As you wish, my lord."

"Corbin, tell me of your efforts at the Ministry."

"My lord, I have spoken with many of the older families, ones who are displeased, especially since Grindewald's fall by Dumbledore's hand. The Ministry has been cutting down on anything that smacks of prejudice against muggles," he sneered, "and thus, against mudbloods and their ilk. Many of the Sacred Twenty-Eight are suffering as a result. I am certain that within the next few months I can secure the houses Rookwood and Macnair."

"Excellent. Gentlemen, the slow rise in our numbers is evidence of our elite status. Within the next few years, I expect we will number in the dozens; within a decade, in the hundreds. While most will not bear my mark, that being reserved only for those such as yourself, the inner circle, we will soon enough have strong enough numbers to begin our true purpose. What you are doing extends beyond keeping bloodlines pure or preserving tradition; you are ensuring the very survival of the wizarding race. You are the officers in this war, for it is indeed a war we are waging, whether our enemies are yet aware or not. As always, I appreciate your fortitude." By the end, they were all gaping at him with something akin to awe, even Abraxas Malfoy. If nothing else, Tom Riddle knew how to speak to people's desires. "You are dismissed. Good evening to you all."

Abraxas, the yet-unnamed Death Eater, Mulciber, and the man Tom had called Corbin all disapparated immediately upon bidding their lord goodnight. Avery looked to Nott before going as well, Rosier with a bow as well. Nott, Lestrange and Dolohov remained.

"Can I help you, gentlemen?" Tom said, surveying the three. Elena frowned.

Theodorus came forward first. "I wished to reestablish my friendship with Elena, my lord. I was just going to give her my well-wishes." At a gesture, Nott came forward and took one of her hands in his. "It is good to see you again, Elena. I'm sure we'll speak again soon."

"Yes, er, you as well, Theodorus."

"My lord," the man said with a bow before popping out of their sight.

"Dolohov, Lestrange?" Both men had been staring at her, Dolohov intently and Lestrange in a way that made her suspect she did not want to know his thoughts. At their lord's words, they glanced at one another, their old rivalry rising. Dolohov bowed his head to the senior man.

Lestrange grinned. "My lord, I know I will not be allowed certain… liberties… with Miss, er, with the girl," he said, tongue darting across his lips. "However, should you ever deign it acceptable, I would gladly assist in correcting her. It need not be sexual in nature."

Elena backed away from the man, only succeeding in pushing herself further into Tom's embrace. Somehow, she imagined torturing her would always be sexual to Lestrange regardless of whether he touched her intimately or not. She could still recall the way he'd leered down at her after using the Cruciatus. Being alone with him was something she hoped to never experience.

"I will take it into consideration," Tom said equably. "Antonin?"

"My lord," he said, gaze darting between her and Tom towering behind her. "With your permission, I would like to spend more time with Miss… Mullens. I would of course be respectful of your claim, but my intentions toward her have not changed."

At the last, he had taken her hand in his, his thumb resting on her pulse.

Tom ran his chin over the top of her head pensively. "You will not touch her, other than what is considered gentlemanly in the public sphere. Nor will you curse, hex, or otherwise bespell her. Any infraction she commits will be reported to me to handle."

The dark man nodded.

"I'll allow it." Lestrange bristled. "Now go, both of you."

They chorused, "My lord," bowed and left.

A shiver ran through her body at Lestrange's last glance. It clung to her like something tangible.

"If you weren't so disgusted with him, so fearful of dark wizards, Rad would be far less eager to sink his claws into you," he told her after a moment, his hands pulling away her cloak so he could stroke her arms through her blouse.

"It's hard not to be," she said.

He pulled her more firmly against him, one arm wrapping around her waist. "You seemed fine with Dolohov, though he holds the same interest in you."

Elena glowered into the night. She had no idea whether Tom could see her face, though she suspected that was his cheek against her hair. "Dolohov isn't nearly as unsettling as Lestrange. Lestrange looks at me as though he wants to eat me."

"Mmm. That's because he does," Tom growled, his nose brushing against her ear as he continued running his hands over her. "If you think Antonin wants to do anything less, you haven't been paying attention." At Elena's questioning head tilt, he said, "I've brought a few conquests to Antonin to see how he would handle them. He may be a perfect gentleman outside of the bedroom— or dungeon— but inside, he is every bit the monster Lestrange is."

Her heart pounded and she was sure he could feel it through where they were connected. The arm around her trekked upward, resting on the throbbing veins of her throat. "And you?" she whispered.

His chuckle rumbled through her as he planted a kiss on her temple. "Oh, pet. I'm so much worse."


	37. Chapter 37

It was Saturday and It had been a few weeks and Elena had only gotten through about half Borgin and Burke's ledgers. Every morning she reported to her work anything she'd found the day before, did some paperwork, then headed to the shop where Tom would allow her to work whilst he touched her possessively. At some point he always pulled her away. Sometimes they talked, sometimes they snogged (rather, he snogged her, not that he seemed to mind the lack of reciprocation). He hadn't cursed her since the Cruciatus that first day, but she knew better than to think he wouldn't should Elena give him a reason.

She also exchanged letters with Theodorus. They'd met on a Sunday for tea as well, and he'd expressed his sorrow that she'd been pulled back into Tom's dark world. "I'd hoped you were gone somewhere he couldn't find you, that you'd gotten away."

"If only…"

Dolohov also wrote her, asking her to tea, to lunch, to dinner, to a social event or anything really. She kept in mind what Tom had said, though the brooding man was always so polite, never perturbed by her gentle rejections.

It was a rainy Thursday morning that she opened the door to her tiny apartment upstairs from a little shop a kind old apothecary owned to find Tom leaning against the wall with nary a hair out of place.

"What are you doing here?"

He proffered a steaming cup toward her which she found was tea with a touch of cream and sugar just as she liked it, then he leaned forward and kissed her cheek. He'd broken her of turning away from his affections, so only the slightest hint of displeasure crossed her face. "I have the morning free, so I thought I'd be a gentleman and escort you to work."

"Oh." Elena took his arm and he cast an Impervius charm on them before they stepped out into the rain. "It's not a long walk, seeing as there's an apparition point right outside of work," she told him.

"You'll just have to side-along me," he said, smirking. He knew she wouldn't decline, and she knew it as well. It took only a moment for them to reach where she usually apparated from.

"It's that office," she gestured with her warm cup. When she attempted to remove herself from him, he pulled her along.

"I'd hardly be much of a gentleman if I didn't escort you all the way," he insisted. He opened the door for her, arching his brow at her reluctance. She sighed and went through.

"'Morning, Elle," the receptionist said. "Who's this?"

"Good morning, Mrs. Little, this is my friend Tom."

"Tom Riddle, pleasure," he said, and the older woman blushed like a schoolgirl.

Elena resisted the urge to roll her eyes and continued to her desk. She had In and Out trays, a pile of paperwork on her desk that was somewhere in between, and a few little odds and ends. Tom plucked the one picture frame and studied the photo of her leaning in to give a small older man a kiss on an unshaved cheek. Based on the sickly thinness and the kind, wide eyes, this was her father. As she bestowed the gesture on him, he pulled her in tight with a grin. She loved the photo; her father was so much livelier when he smiled.

She grabbed the papers in the In tray and sorted through them. Most of them were memos and could be discarded upon reading.

"Is Mullens here?" boomed Edgar from his office.

"Yes, boss," she called out. His heavy footsteps preceded his arrival, and he clapped her on the back with enthusiasm she would have found irritating had Edgar not been so likeable.

"Elle, how are you this fine morning— oh, and who's this young man?"

"Tom Riddle, sir," said the young man, extending a hand while a disarming smile graced his face. "I had the morning off, so thought it would be pleasant to escort Elena to work. We don't get to spend as much time together since we graduated."

She clenched her jaw at his whole charming schoolboy façade but didn't gainsay him.

"I didn't know you had a fella, Elle."

"It's not really—"

Tom sidled toward her and slipped an arm around her waist. "We only recently started seeing one another again. We lost touch after Hogwarts."

"What do you do, Tom?"

"I'm currently working at Borgin and Burke's; Mr. Borgin and Mr. Burke have me handling a majority of the more difficult acquisitions," he responded smoothly. "I'm a deft hand with cursed objects."

"Oho, so you're the one supervising Elle, then?" At Tom's nod, Edgar guffawed. "How fortuitous! Well, I'm glad to have been a part of bringing you two back together. Elle is such a serious girl. Say, what are you doing tomorrow evening, Tom?"

Tom shrugged awkwardly. "I'm a dull sort, I'm afraid. Probably just reading up on the latest in curse breaking and sipping brandy."

"A brandy man? After my own heart!" he put a hand on his chest to emphasize the point. "The wife and I are having a small get-together. Did Elle not tell you? Well, we didn't know she had anyone, so we didn't mention a plus one, but we'd be delighted to have you."

"Mr. Bones, I'm sure Tom" she cut in—

"—would love to, thank you," Tom said.

Edgar nodded, stroking his auburn beard. "Wonderful. We start at eight, after dinner so those with little ones can come after securing a sitter. There's a bit of drinking, chatting, but mostly we just enjoy having people over."

"I shall see you then," Tom beamed.

As Edgar cavorted away, she turned to Tom with barely controlled fury on her face. "Why would you say yes to that?"

"It's expected for a man to accompany his girl to such, doll."

"No." She shook her head, rubbing at her forehead. "Monday I'll just tell him I was sick this weekend."

"Nonsense; we'll go and enjoy ourselves." He ended the discussion there.

Surprisingly, she was enjoying herself. She'd just finished a glass of lovely red wine and was chatting with Amelia Bones, Edgar's wife. The woman was at least as brilliant as her husband, if not more, and was happy to share her knowledge with a fellow woman trying to work in law. Tom spoke here and there with others as they passed, but mostly stayed beside her, content to assist her with her networking.

"With the right tutelage, you'd be a wonderful courtroom attorney," Amelia assured her. "I don't know why you insist you'd rather stay buried under paperwork."

"I've told her the same," Tom intoned. "She doesn't listen to me." He gave a long-suffering sigh and Elena laughed at the audacity of it, giving him a soft push with the hand still holding her empty wine glass. Tom grinned, then tugged the glass from her fingers.

"I'm not comfortable with public speaking," she told Amelia. "I can hardly even order at a restaurant, let alone address a courtroom!"

"You get over that, dear," the older woman confided. "No one starts out a natural at public speaking. We all learn the hard way."

"I'm more comfortable in a supporting role."

Amelia smiled indulgently. "We grow most when we step out of our comfort."

Elena was so engrossed she hadn't realized Tom left until he reappeared at her elbow with two glasses of the red she'd so liked. She considered him suspiciously, but he held out both glasses for her to choose from, so she took one and confirmed that it was exactly what she'd had before.

"Tom's never had an issue with public speaking," she told Amelia. "I don't think anything makes him uncomfortable."

"I don't know about that, doll." He rubbed at the back of his neck and even that was alarmingly affable. "Growing up in a muggle orphanage, I was like a newborn horse when I first came into the wizarding world. I could hardly stand upright." How he effortlessly transformed from perfect society man to shy orphan was beyond her.

Amelia pressed a hand to her chest. "You poor dear. A muggle orphanage?"

He nodded. "My mother was a witch, but her family didn't approve of the man she married. She died giving birth to me at an orphanage because she knew she wouldn't survive."

Elena silenced herself by drinking the wine, watching Tom turn his charm on the other Bones of Bones, Bones and Trelawney. He was rather charismatic; even when he dropped his mask, there was something magnetic about him. He was fascinating and handsome; even as a cruel dark lord he was like a marble statue, beautiful and cold. It was unfair that he was so beautiful, his nose aristocratic and his lips soft. Wherever he went, he stood out for both his height and his beauty. Though a part of her thought he might be compelling even if he was hideous. The cadence of his voice, the power of his words, the allure of his eyes…

Elena shook her head, swallowing thickly as her pulse kicked up. When she looked back at the man, he was frowning at her. "Are you alright, love? You look flushed." He stroked the back of his hand against her cheek and she leaned into the coolness of his skin even as she blushed redder under his scrutiny.

"I'm— I'm a bit warm," she admitted, downing the rest of her wine to keep from fidgeting.

"Perhaps we should get you home." His voice was laced with concern and his dark eyes were warmer as his other hand came up to cup her face. "I hope you are not coming down with anything."

She'd never noticed how long his lashes were; she'd always just seen the monster she knew was lurking out of sight. That had nothing to do with her though. He'd cursed her twice, but that was neither here nor there.

"Elena, pet. Did you hear me?" She nodded. "I'm going to take you home, alright?"

She murmured, "Yes," and barely noticed as he gave his regrets to Amelia and asked her to let Edgar know. Tom curved an arm protectively around her and walked her to the apparition point. The cool night air felt divine on her skin, as did the comforting weight of the man beside her. He drew her into his arms, one hand at the small of her back and the other removing the band holding her hair back, combing through it to tangle in her locks. Her stomach flipped and she clung to him, taking in his crisp, clean scent as the pull of apparition hit.

When her eyes batted open, they were in Knockturn Alley. "Where-?"

"Sh, pet. Come along." Tom was still holding her, guiding her behind the shop where he worked and upstairs. He had a little apartment there, around the size of her own she thought, though it was difficult to say when she could hardly take her eyes off him. He took her cloak and laid it over the back of a chair, guiding her to sit on his lap atop it.

She settled against him with one hand pressed to his chest. His body was smooth and firm under his shirt. When had he removed his outer robes and vest? She puzzled over the strangeness of everything, how she'd never noticed so much about him, then frowned. "Tom? Did you give me something?"

"Why do you ask, sweetheart?" He tipped her chin up, thumb running over bottom lip. Her lips parted and she had the urge to suck in his thumb, but instead responded.

"I feel, hmm, different. Warm." She tugged at the collar of her blouse. Tom smiled, unbuttoning the top three buttons so she could feel the cool air of the room against her throat.

"And if I did?" he prompted, his hand dropping to knead one of her breasts through her clothes.

"Oh," she moaned. "What was it?"

He laughed. "Something to help you with those pesky morals is all. You should still know the difference between right and wrong, but you might not care." He pinched her nipples through the layers of fabric and she arched into his hand. "And the wine. Two glasses aren't much, but you're such a little thing, aren't you, pet?"

She shouldn't be doing this; she was afraid of him. Tom Riddle was a monster masquerading as a man. A striking, awful monster. But she couldn't bring herself to care as he finished unbuttoning her shirt and reached behind her to unclasp her bra, sliding both articles off. She waited for his hands to return but when they didn't, she peered up at him through her lashes. The weight in his eyes made her shudder.

"Aren't you going to…?"

The corner of his mouth ticked up, but he didn't move. "I'm not a gentle lover, pet. You understand that?"

Her heart was pounding in her throat. He wouldn't damage her; he'd made it clear he wanted her kept at a certain wellness. And his hands had felt so good. She nodded slowly, licking her lips. A low, confident laugh rumbled through him. He still hadn't touched her and looked askance at him once more.

"Show your willingness then." Her cheeks burned. She didn't know how. Tom stood with her in his arms, gently setting her on her feet and smirked. He nodded toward the door on the opposite wall. "My bed. Come." He walked past her, leaving the door open behind him.

Elena stood in front of her vanity mirror, staring at the sorrowful creature staring right back. She wished she could be stronger, but the weakness was written into her bones, etched on her skin, blazing out of her so anyone could see. It was no wonder she'd caught the eye of so many wolves; she was easy prey. Small, uncertain, frail. She'd spent the past almost year trying to build herself up and Tom Riddle had knocked her back to the start with a flick of his wrist.

Still, she hadn't completely reverted. She knew how to dress like someone with confidence now, as evidenced by her black pencil skirt and black high-collared blouse, neat hose and sensible black heels. Her hair was braided tightly in the hopes that it would be less likely to come loose should she be subjected to more torture. Her makeup was tasteful, understated, and mostly in place as a mask for her lack of control.

Over it all she threw on her traveling cloak, stalked to the fireplace, and floo'd to the shop.

Tom Riddle sat on the counter awaiting her, also dressed in unrelieved black. He surveyed her form and she could almost physically feel his eyes on her legs, hips, breasts. "You'll want to put up your hood and hold your cloak closed for a bit. I don't want to spoil your reveal." Elena nodded and stepped forward, taking his offered arm. His free hand skimmed over her waist beneath the cloak and she almost didn't realize when the tugging feeling in her core became the pull of apparition.

"A graveyard?" Elena stepped away and closed her cloak with fists on the inside. Around them were tombs and tombstones, marble angels. The white stone gleamed in the moonlight.

"It's a private place, fitting for my Death Eaters." He smirked and his fingertips stroked her cheeks before he pulled her hood forward and plunged her face into shadow. "The men should be arriving soon. It'll be nice to have the whole family together again, won't it?" He tapped the tip of her nose and backed away, checking a watch he'd hidden somewhere in his robes. As the first pop of apparition rang out, he nodded and put it away.

There was another pop and another, another. Far more than she'd expected. By the time it ended, there were nine men circling Tom, all falling to a kneel before him and all hiding their faces in their hoods.

"Rise, my Death Eaters. Rise and dispense with the hoods. We are all family here." They stood as one and lowered their hoods to reveal their faces. There was Nott, Dolohov, Rosier, Avery, Mulciber, Lestrange. She paused on Abraxas Malfoy's white hair shining like the marble in the night. He stood proudly among the other men. There were two others she didn't know.

"Welcome, gentlemen. I called this meeting as a reunion of sorts." He gestured toward her. "Our esteemed guest has been absent so long that I thought it best to have a reintroduction. Go on," he commanded.

Elena swallowed and pushed back the cloth, staring at each of the men in turn. Rad's face broke into a feral, hungry grin. Dolohov's eyes sparkled. Nott seemed… disappointed somehow. And Abraxas Malfoy frowned.

"This is Elena… Mullens. In her sixth and seventh years at Hogwarts, she was a part of my coterie. While she is not a Death Eater, you may consider her mine all the same, a pet of sorts." Lestrange laughed. "She is the illegitimate daughter of Cassandra Vablatsky." Understanding dawned on Malfoy's face, as though he hadn't placed her before now. She imagined he wouldn't have.

"Where has she been, my lord?"

"Upset you missed your chance with her, Rad?" The young man looked irritated but shook his head. "She's been hiding, playing the little mouse again. No worries; she's already had a taste of the Cruciatus as a part of her penance." He turned to her. "Radcliffe here is engaged to be married to a lovely Pureblooded French witch," he confided to the girl. "Though it looks like he might have preferred you."

"Perhaps when you're finished, my lord, I could still—"

"No." Tom's voice commanded silence. "I won't pass around our little pet like a toy, nor will I undermine the authority of whomever I place her with by borrowing her out. You'll have to ask her husband for that favor, Rad."

Elena was suddenly grateful both to her makeup and the night for hiding the flush of her cheeks. She knew better than to express her indigence; fighting against Tom's wishes especially in front of his minions was a good way to wind up screaming on the ground.

"Pardon, my lord," came the gruff voice of one of the men she did not recognize. "What's this about?"

"Ah, Travers. Forgive me. As I've said, Elena here is mine. I am man with particular needs, and I intend to break her to those. As she does not share our views, this would be the best way to make sure she understands her place, albeit in a way that is enjoyable for me. Once that is done, I'll give her over to one of you to ensure she remains secure. Can't allow an asset to fall into the wrong hands, can I?"

"And what is exactly is her value?" Malfoy's cultured tones quipped, adding a delayed, "my lord?" His eyes, an indistinguishable grey in the dark, danced over her impassively. Without a Pureblood name, it seemed she wasn't worth his regard. She whipped back her cloak and straightened under his scrutiny, refusing to be cowed because she bore a muggle name.

"Does it matter, Abraxas? I say she has value, and you should take my word as law." Tom stalked behind her and she stiffened, ignoring the urge to watch him. His hands alighted on her shoulders. "However, since you asked so politely, I will indulge you. Besides, some of your brothers already know. I would hate to cause a rift between your bonds."

Abraxas nodded and murmured, "Thank you, my lord." He had grimaced at Tom's early words to him, though he still watched Elena with something like disdain.

The tall man at her back stroked his hands down her biceps. "Elena here inherited her mother's gift. Imagine my surprise when I found she had written a prophecy about yours truly." The three new Knights— no, Death Eaters— now looked over her as though she'd only just appeared. "Ah, you see now. Does that fulfill your curiosity, Abraxas? Does her value meet your expectations?"

The pale man balked at that but stammered out his agreement.

"Good." Tom pulled her to lean against him and she could almost hear the mocking smile on his face as he said, "You're not yet engaged, are you, Brax?" The man sputtered, eyes bulging in disbelief. Tom chuckled. "Calm down. I'd rather hand her over to someone who appreciates her. Besides, I know you'd rather die childless than sully your line with a halfblood. Now, onto business. Rosier, Dolohov, how goes the recruiting?"

"Excellent, my lord," said Dolohov, tearing his eyes off the girl at last. "We have several prospects among the younger ones already. Rowle is an especially good candidate— you'll remember him, he was a new Prefect under you." At Tom's nod, he continued. "He would be ideal to keep recruiting once Ev and I have graduated. Younger students trust him."

One of Tom's hands lifted from her as he tapped his chin, considering. "Bring him to the next meeting. If you're considering him as your replacement at Hogwarts, it's time he moved to the next level."

"As you wish, my lord."

"Corbin, tell me of your efforts at the Ministry."

"My lord, I have spoken with many of the older families, ones who are displeased, especially since Grindewald's fall by Dumbledore's hand. The Ministry has been cutting down on anything that smacks of prejudice against muggles," he sneered, "and thus, against mudbloods and their ilk. Many of the Sacred Twenty-Eight are suffering as a result. I am certain that within the next few months I can secure the houses Rookwood and Macnair."

"Excellent. Gentlemen, the slow rise in our numbers is evidence of our elite status. Within the next few years, I expect we will number in the dozens; within a decade, in the hundreds. While most will not bear my mark, that being reserved only for those such as yourself, the inner circle, we will soon enough have strong enough numbers to begin our true purpose. What you are doing extends beyond keeping bloodlines pure or preserving tradition; you are ensuring the very survival of the wizarding race. You are the officers in this war, for it is indeed a war we are waging, whether our enemies are yet aware or not. As always, I appreciate your fortitude." By the end, they were all gaping at him with something akin to awe, even Abraxas Malfoy. If nothing else, Tom Riddle knew how to speak to people's desires. "You are dismissed. Good evening to you all."

Abraxas, the yet-unnamed Death Eater, Mulciber, and the man Tom had called Corbin all disapparated immediately upon bidding their lord goodnight. Avery looked to Nott before going as well, Rosier with a bow as well. Nott, Lestrange and Dolohov remained.

"Can I help you, gentlemen?" Tom said, surveying the three. Elena frowned.

Theodorus came forward first. "I wished to reestablish my friendship with Elena, my lord. I was just going to give her my well-wishes." At a gesture, Nott came forward and took one of her hands in his. "It is good to see you again, Elena. I'm sure we'll speak again soon."

"Yes, er, you as well, Theodorus."

"My lord," the man said with a bow before popping out of their sight.

"Dolohov, Lestrange?" Both men had been staring at her, Dolohov intently and Lestrange in a way that made her suspect she did not want to know his thoughts. At their lord's words, they glanced at one another, their old rivalry rising. Dolohov bowed his head to the senior man.

Lestrange grinned. "My lord, I know I will not be allowed certain… liberties… with Miss, er, with the girl," he said, tongue darting across his lips. "However, should you ever deign it acceptable, I would gladly assist in correcting her. It need not be sexual in nature."

Elena backed away from the man, only succeeding in pushing herself further into Tom's embrace. Somehow, she imagined torturing her would always be sexual to Lestrange regardless of whether he touched her intimately or not. She could still recall the way he'd leered down at her after using the Cruciatus. Being alone with him was something she hoped to never experience.

"I will take it into consideration," Tom said equably. "Antonin?"

"My lord," he said, gaze darting between her and Tom towering behind her. "With your permission, I would like to spend more time with Miss… Mullens. I would of course be respectful of your claim, but my intentions toward her have not changed."

At the last, he had taken her hand in his, his thumb resting on her pulse.

Tom ran his chin over the top of her head pensively. "You will not touch her, other than what is considered gentlemanly in the public sphere. Nor will you curse, hex, or otherwise bespell her. Any infraction she commits will be reported to me to handle."

The dark man nodded.

"I'll allow it." Lestrange bristled. "Now go, both of you."

They chorused, "My lord," bowed and left.

A shiver ran through her body at Lestrange's last glance. It clung to her like something tangible.

"If you weren't so disgusted with him, so fearful of dark wizards, Rad would be far less eager to sink his claws into you," he told her after a moment, his hands pulling away her cloak so he could stroke her arms through her blouse.

"It's hard not to be," she said.

He pulled her more firmly against him, one arm wrapping around her waist. "You seemed fine with Dolohov, though he holds the same interest in you."

Elena glowered into the night. She had no idea whether Tom could see her face, though she suspected that was his cheek against her hair. "Dolohov isn't nearly as unsettling as Lestrange. Lestrange looks at me as though he wants to eat me."

"Mmm. That's because he does," Tom growled, his nose brushing against her ear as he continued running his hands over her. "If you think Antonin wants to do anything less, you haven't been paying attention." At Elena's questioning head tilt, he said, "I've brought a few conquests to Antonin to see how he would handle them. He may be a perfect gentleman outside of the bedroom— or dungeon— but inside, he is every bit the monster Lestrange is."

Her heart pounded and she was sure he could feel it through where they were connected. The arm around her trekked upward, resting on the throbbing veins of her throat. "And you?" she whispered.

His chuckle rumbled through her as he planted a kiss on her temple. "Oh, pet. I'm so much worse."


	38. Chapter 38

Tom was facing his bed as he leisurely undressed, setting aside his tie, folding his button-down and laying it beside the scrap of silk. He chuckled as he heard the shy padding of his pet's feet crossing the threshold into his room. He revolved to face her, one hand settled on his belt. Her hands were hiding her breasts bashfully and her pale skin was stained red to her chest. "Drop your hands, pet." She lowered them slowly and they danced nervously against her skin. "Lovely," he said. "Remove your skirt." He crossed his arms over his chest as she did just that with shaky fingers. Loosened morals did not reduce social anxiety, apparently. Or not completely. The skirt fell to her feet and she stepped out of it, her heels delicately clicking against the floor.

Tom groaned at the sight. She stared at him with those wide eyes, red lips parted, hair already disheveled where it fell against her shoulders. The smooth expanse of her torso was bare, breasts round and pert and topped with deliciously pink nipples, garter belt holding up her thigh highs, dark against her milky skin, legs shaped to advantage by the heels she still wore. She was a vision of pending debauchery. He gestured her forward until she was within reach and tugged her to him, hands molding her small, quaking form to his as he kissed her.

Her mouth opened obediently and, when his tongue sought hers out, she began to move her lips against his and stroked his tongue shyly with hers. Tom led her to the bed, spilling her atop it before pulling away. Her lipstick was lewdly smeared over her mouth and she blinked heavily. "Finish undressing," he commanded in a voice gravelly with lust. She obeyed a touch more quickly than before, her eyes locked on him as he drew his undershirt over his head and tossed it aside, unbuckled his belt, unbuttoned his trousers. He'd slipped off his shoes and socks upon entering, trousers falling easily now. As he shucked his final layer, she looked away, hesitating to remove her pale pink knickers. "Didn't I give you an order?"

His little doll's gaze snapped to him before she could help herself and she stared agape at his nude form.

"Pet," he said. He towered over her, one hand flying under her jaw to hold her face toward him. "I gave you an order." She chewed on her lip and nodded, hands going to the top of the small piece of fabric but didn't move. "Do you need assistance? You need to ask."

It was enchanting how she gasped at the hand on her throat, pupils dilating as she stared up at him. At his expectant expression, she breathily replied, "Please. Please, Tom." At the sharp shake of his head, her eyes widened to the point of panic.

"I—"

"Who am I, pet?" He could feel so much through her throat. Her pulse was rapid against his fingers, and the muscles moved as she swallowed. He could even feel the vibrations of the little whimper she let out.

"Please, my lord," she breathed at last.

He nearly growled and he pushed her further onto the bed and tore the cotton from her body. She gasped and he shoved against her shoulders until she laid flat on her back, head turned so she could hungrily watch as he pried her thighs apart. His eyes trailed up and down her body and leaned forward to smell her arousal before finally running his tongue up her slit. She jumped at the sensation and he viciously slapped down where he'd licked. The choked sound she made then was among the sweetest sounds he'd ever heard. "You've been a good girl for me, haven't you, pet?" he said, fingers teasing at her lips. She nodded hurriedly. "You haven't let anyone touch you like this." The back and forth of her head amused him, how eagerly she let him know. He blew gently against her, then shoved two fingers inside.

She was tight, and he could feel the restriction from her still intact hymen there. Her back bowed off the bed, but she made no move to retreat even when she'd settled back again. He slowly moved his fingers in and out of her; his idea of foreplay was making a woman sob, but he was too large not to stretch them a little first. "So tight, my good little pet. Untouched, eager for me." His fingers pumped in and out, curling just a touch inside her. She was soon panting, hands gripping his hair when he lapped at her again. Once he was sure he could fit without hurting himself, he pulled out his fingers and propped himself above her.

"Open," he directed. She parted her lips and Tom sank his fingers inside, running them along her tongue. He then kissed her, tasting both her mouth and her core, fingers and tongue overwhelming her mouth. He leaned back and stared at her face and the desire clouding it before he climbed forward, rearranging them both until she was on the pillow and he was straddling her chest. His fingers tangled in her soft, pale hair and he rotated his hips, so his wide dick brushed her red-smeared lips, trailing the saliva he'd wiped across her face.

"Open," he repeated, and thrust himself into her mouth as she submitted herself to him. She struggled to keep up with his brutal pace, his cock stretching her mouth obscenely, the head pushing against the back of her throat until he could slip past her soft palette. "Fuck," he sighed. "That's my good girl. Good little doll, letting me control her, surrendering to me." His hips snapped again and he held her still against him, as deep down her throat as he could force herself. Tom could feel her trying to gag around him and it felt like bliss. Tears were streaming from her scrunched closed eyes and he slapped her cheek just enough to jar her from herself.

"Look at me, sweetheart. There." He groaned as her tear-brightened eyes stared up at him. "So fucking good." He snapped his hips as she tried to sob around him, lost in the heat of her mouth. "I'm going to fuck you, you know that, don't you?" He laughed as she tried to nod with his dick in her mouth. Her mascara had traced her tears across her cheeks and he slapped her again, rubbing his hand across her face to further ruin her makeup. "You want me to fuck you?" he crooned and she groaned, her tongue running against the underside of him.

He withdrew himself from her mouth and slapped her so hard he was sure she saw stars, then again. Then Tom laid over her, a hand still gripping her soft locks as the other shoved three fingers into her this time. "Mine." He removed his fingers and thrust into her as he forced his tongue into her mouth. "Mine," he growled again, biting her lip. Merlin, she was so fucking tight and he had to push hard to open her completely to him. Even had she not been a virgin, he was sure her blood would be on his thighs after. The thought caused him to push more deeply into her, hitting the end of her. He still wasn't completely inside of her, but it was the most delectable heat.

"Fuck. Take it, cunt," he said, teeth biting along her jaw, down her throat, her shoulder, to her breasts. He sucked her nipple and areola into his mouth until she arced against him and she tightened around him, flooding with arousal. She was enjoying this and he slapped her again, her inner walls tightening more. "Tell me you like it, sweetheart. Tell me." He snapped his hips sharply back and forth, making room inside of her until he could fit.

She was whimpering against him, her legs wrapped around his hips. He demanded again that she speak and she laced her fingers around his neck as she begged. "Please, Tom, please. Please, please, my lord. Please, more."

Tom groaned and backhanded her again. He could see a bruise forming on her cheek and he bared his teeth down as he stilled. "Beg me to fuck you. Say it. Say, 'Please fuck me, my lord.'"

"Please," she cried, writhing against him. "Please, please fuck me, my lord. Oh, please, my lord. Please fuck me."

"Fuuuuuck." He began pounding into her again, adjusting them so her legs were over his shoulders. "Do you like this? Do you like me hurting you?" He backhanded her again and her lip finally split, so Tom leaned forward and lapped at the blood that rose to the surface as her pussy clenched around him. She was moaning and nodding and moving against him desperately. When he gripped her throat and tightened his hand around her, the other hitting her wherever he could reach, she began thrashing and bucking, the walls of her sweet, perfect cunt fluttering against him as she came. He could feel their sweat and her arousal forming a puddle on the bed.

Tom bent forward, her legs nearly touching her forehead, and hissed all the dirty things he'd like to do to her, telling her how he wanted her to sob for him, to break down into nothing for him, just a broken piece of meat. She understood none of it, but she knew. She knew what he was, and she was letting him do this anyway. He kept gripping her body, releasing her throat just enough so she wouldn't pass out, nails digging into her. His right hand curled into a fist and he punched her ribs as she gripped his cock with her insides. She had gone from one orgasm to another even as her voice broke and she began to sob beneath him.

"Yesss." He nipped her ear as he spilled himself inside her, her nails raking down his back. She was practically milking him. As he finished, he pulled himself out to let his still hard cock rest against her. Once the last pulse had passed, some of his cum sticking to her belly, he drew himself up to her mouth again. "Clean me up, sweetheart." He could see the pink tinge of her blood mixed with both their fluids. Whether she could see it or not, she lapped at him before taking him in as fully as she could. He threw his head back, stroking her hair, then disengaged from her body and slid down beside her.

Tom laid a soft kiss on her temple and tugged her burning body into his own. "My sweet little cunt," he chuckled against her cheek. "My little masochist. I'm going to fuck you until you hate yourself as much as you hate me."

She was already asleep in his arms.


	39. Chapter 39

Elena rolled onto her side, pulling the pillow over her face as she did. The world was too bright, and her body ached in ways that were unfamiliar to her. It felt as though she'd been repeatedly stabbed in her womb.

The bed shifted and an arm slung across her waist, bringing her in tighter to whoever she shared a bed with. Fingers tickled at her bare hip and she nuzzled against the muscled chest against her face. The scent of the flesh was vaguely familiar, though tainted by the salty bite of sweat and something muskier that made her stomach clench almost painfully.

She sighed and grabbed the person in bed with her. A soft laugh sounded against her ear and she blearily looked out through heavy eyelids. "What?"

"Shh, pet." She hummed. "Go back to sleep."

That voice was wonderful and the hands on her body were tender. She snuggled into him and threw a leg over his hip. Something hard and heavy pressed against her.

"If you keep that up, I won't be able to resist." The hand travelled up to stroke her hair. "Sleep. We can play more later, doll." Fingers danced over her soothingly and she drifted off again.

She woke some time later to a heady mix of pain and pleasure coursing through her. It was as though she floated in sensation, and she groaned and pushed herself toward it. The voice from before guided her through it with twisted murmurs that had no place in reality. The sharp glide between her breasts mingled with the pulsing heat inside of her. Something soft lapped at the warm pool forming on her chest. Alien susurrations sounded against her ear, punctuated by a groan and one final thrust and she cried out at the pulsations, reaching completion then as well. A mouth bore down on hers, coppery and possessive.

"So good, sweetheart." Hands stroked her gently back to sleep.

She wakened to the comforting buzz of fingers massaging her scalp. Her forehead was pressed against something smooth and living and she reached toward it, wrapping her hand over the curve of a thigh.

A masculine chuckle came from above her and her eyes fluttered open only to squint in the light streaming in from a window. "Good morning, pet." Tom Riddle smiled down at her. He was nude, leaning against the headboard of his bed. Her head was against his hip, one of his hands in her hair and the other holding a book.

Elena frowned and backed away from him, pulling the sheet up over her breasts. She ached everywhere and she was still fuzzy from sleep and the remnants of the red wine. "What?" She shook her head and puzzled over what she wanted to ask. "What did you do?"

He set aside the book and arched a brow at her. "You didn't have that much to drink. Think back."

She combed both hands through her hair, pushing it out of her face and trying to erase Tom's touch. There were bruises on her arms roughly the size of fingertips, half-moon shapes, long scratches. Her breasts were beyond tender, her chest aching.

"I'm not a gentle lover, pet."

Elena lowered the soft cotton sheet enough to see the long wound on her sternum and the visceral memory of his tongue licking at her blood and the sliced flesh caught her off guard. "You drugged me," she at last, voice hoarse. "You ra—"

"No." The word demanded her attention and she looked up at him, his eyes flashing crimson. "The potion I gave you merely reduced your moral conscience. It did not eliminate your inhibitions, nor did it manufacture anything. Two gasses of red wine, even at your admittedly slight size, is not enough to intoxicate you past judgement. You wanted it, Elena."

She looked down at her bitten, bruised and sliced body and back at him, incredulous. "I wanted this, Tom? Is this what you like to do, batter women?"

"Don't play the victim with me, sweetheart," he sneered. "You were dripping as I hurt you, begging me for more. You licked your own blood off me."

Her cheeks burned with shame, tears filling her eyes and overflowing onto her face before she could stop them. The memory of him inside of her, impossibly large, his weight on her, flashed through her mind. She could hardly remember the second time, but he'd gripped her wrists with one of his hands and hissed into her ear even as he sliced her open. She'd thrashed beneath him for more reasons than pain.

"I thought I'd have to break you to have you begging me to hurt you." He laughed coldly. "Seems I can start heavy right out the gate. Dolohov will be thrilled. He might be a sexual sadist, but he's surprisingly romantic otherwise. Oh, sweetheart." Tom tugged her into his arms, and she could feel him stirring against her. He licked one of the tears from her skin, planting a kiss over the spot as well. "You have no idea how tempting you are like this." His fingers plucked at her and he rolled his hips against her. "I could keep you here all day, hurting you, coaxing tears out of you."

"I hate you," she whispered, trying to push down the self-loathing threatening to overwhelm her.

She could feel that the pronouncement thrilled him. His grip tightened on her and he nuzzled against the top of her head. "Mmm. I know."


	40. Chapter 40

Antonin was pleasantly surprised when his owl returned to him that morning with an agreement to see him in its talons. He'd been writing the girl with offers to meet for more than a month now and she had declined every single invitation until now, a last-minute request that she join him for lunch at a café in Diagon Alley. He smiled down at the parchment, folding it and tucking it away, then caught a glimpse of his reflection. No, this wouldn't do at all. He had a date.

By the time he sat at a small table under the café awning, he'd shaved, combed back his black curls, and changed twice in preparation. His button-down was pale blue, meant to soften his severe appearance. He knew he was an intimidating man, tall, burly, brooding. He looked exactly like the type of man who enjoyed dark pleasures, which he was. However, he had his softer side. He adored his mother, had been raised to treat women with a certain amount of curtesy (and only in the bedroom did he disregard that learning).

He ordered a crisp white wine, something good for lunch, and sipped as he waited.

Elena's pale hair caught the sunlight through the crowd as she approached, and Antonin stood, pulling out a chair for her. She was wearing a lovely blue sundress, her hair pulled back, light robe thrown over her outfit. "Good afternoon, Elena," he said, taking her hand in his. "I appreciate your agreeing to dine with me. You look lovely, as always."

"Thank you," she responded, gaze skimming over the table.

"Would you not rather take off your robe? It's a warm day." And he wouldn't mind seeing more of her, but she shook her head as she sat. "I took the liberty of ordering us wine. I hope you don't mind." Up close, he could see she was tired. With the artfully applied makeup and her hair back, she looked more mature from a distance; close-up she was the same little doll he'd known at Hogwarts.

"That's fine," Elena murmured. She was such a demure little thing, lashes downward as she stared at her glass. He filled it and sipped his own.

"Are you well?" he asked after a moment and she looked up at him at last, surprise written across her face. "I don't mean to be rude, but you seem, er, not well."

"I'm fine."

Antonin sighed, but dropped the line of questioning as someone came to take their order. Once the server was out of earshot, he said, "I've always admired you, Elena. You're a lovely young woman, well-mannered. I was glad to see you return, as I'd hoped to get to know you better. And with Lestrange engaged, I know you are safe from him in the future."

Elena had only had some of her water so far and she set down her glass with a clink at that. "Not from you though."

"You would not be in danger with me."

"That's not what I heard," she responded coolly.

Antonin studied her for a moment, took in the scar he could barely see on her chest, though one of her hands rushed to cover it as his eyes darted there. "Did Tom do that?" he said at last, chin resting on one of his hands. She chewed on her lip and he nodded. "I've healed a few of his conquests to recognize his work. I don't leave my women marked up. And my preferences in the bedroom are just that; I've no need to brutalize a lady."

The girl snorted at that, the most unladylike sound he'd ever heard from her. "Is that supposed to comfort me?"

"Yes, actually. You'd be a partner to me, not a toy." He reached for her hand where it lay on the table, but she pulled it away. "Elena," he said, trying to put his earnestness into his tone. "I can promise you that you would be safe with me. I— I have particular tastes, yes, but I promise you I wouldn't do anything truly damaging. Should you go to someone who is less inclined to care for you, someone who is closer to Lestrange, you might not be so fortunate."

"I don't want to 'go' to anyone." Her jaw was set stubbornly as their food came out, though she managed a polite thanks to the server. "I don't intend to be Tom's pet forever, Dolohov—"

"Antonin, please."

"Yes, well. I don't want any of this." She traced patterns on the sweat from her glass. "I'm trying to find a way out."

"I doubt Tom will allow that," he informed her. "Don't forget that he has Marked all of his current followers for life. We are bound to him. He will not let you go. Let me take care of you."

"You can't keep me safe from him."

"He'll be done with you by then; he's currently just enjoying the novelty." Antonin managed to take her hand this time, thumb stroking over the back of it. He'd rarely touched her and certainly not for any length of time. Her skin was soft, the bones of her little hand delicate. There was a bruise on her wrist. "Become boring. Cry and scream and beg and give in to him. He'll find you dull sooner rather than later."

Cynicism lit in her eyes as she said, "Losing his interest may be easier said than done."

"You've been with him once already, yes? He rarely takes the same woman more than that. Another time, maybe two, and he will be done," Antonin comforted.

Her laugh was cuttingly bitter. "He's already had me three times, Antonin. He has a new game to play with me." Elena tugged at her hand, but he gripped it tighter.

"What do you mean?" She was avoiding his gaze. "Elena, tell me. I cannot help you unless you do."

She was silent, staring at something that wasn't there to see, but he waited. Finally, after a stretch of quiet punctuated only by wind, she spoke.

"Every time, he pushes further, to see how much I can take. He's never had anyone who—who reacts the way I do." Her face flushed and her voice was so soft he could hardly hear it. Antonin pulled his chair closer to hers, taking her arm at the elbow to massage her forearm. He waited and his patience paid out once more. "He enjoys the way my body responds to him, to what he does to me. He uses it against me, calling me his little masochist." Something in Antonin thrilled at that, but he kept his expression sympathetic, slow understanding dawning at Tom's new 'game.'. "He's cut me and licked my blood like some sort of monster, and it excited him when he realized I could enjoy it, that a part of me could take any measure of— of gratification in the pain. He wants me to hate myself for it but crave it all the same. He wants to destroy me, have me beg for ruin, and build me into something that is in its own way as perverse as he is." Tears had escaped despite her empty expression. "Then he'll be ready to discard me."

"Oh, lovely girl." He embraced her and she took it as she did Riddle's affections. "Sweet, breakable girl. I'll do what I can to take care of you."

Somehow that broke the dam and her quiet weeping became a deluge. She curled against his chest as she cried and he delighted in holding her, her small body wracked with sobs. Tom Riddle would cast her aside eventually and he intended to be the one to catch her.


	41. Chapter 41

Antonin was pleasantly surprised when his owl returned to him that morning with an agreement to see him in its talons. He'd been writing the girl with offers to meet for more than a month now and she had declined every single invitation until now, a last-minute request that she join him for lunch at a café in Diagon Alley. He smiled down at the parchment, folding it and tucking it away, then caught a glimpse of his reflection. No, this wouldn't do at all. He had a date.

By the time he sat at a small table under the café awning, he'd shaved, combed back his black curls, and changed twice in preparation. His button-down was pale blue, meant to soften his severe appearance. He knew he was an intimidating man, tall, burly, brooding. He looked exactly like the type of man who enjoyed dark pleasures, which he was. However, he had his softer side. He adored his mother, had been raised to treat women with a certain amount of curtesy (and only in the bedroom did he disregard that learning).

He ordered a crisp white wine, something good for lunch, and sipped as he waited.

Elena's pale hair caught the sunlight through the crowd as she approached, and Antonin stood, pulling out a chair for her. She was wearing a lovely blue sundress, her hair pulled back, light robe thrown over her outfit. "Good afternoon, Elena," he said, taking her hand in his. "I appreciate your agreeing to dine with me. You look lovely, as always."

"Thank you," she responded, gaze skimming over the table.

"Would you not rather take off your robe? It's a warm day." And he wouldn't mind seeing more of her, but she shook her head as she sat. "I took the liberty of ordering us wine. I hope you don't mind." Up close, he could see she was tired. With the artfully applied makeup and her hair back, she looked more mature from a distance; close-up she was the same little doll he'd known at Hogwarts.

"That's fine," Elena murmured. She was such a demure little thing, lashes downward as she stared at her glass. He filled it and sipped his own.

"Are you well?" he asked after a moment and she looked up at him at last, surprise written across her face. "I don't mean to be rude, but you seem, er, not well."

"I'm fine."

Antonin sighed, but dropped the line of questioning as someone came to take their order. Once the server was out of earshot, he said, "I've always admired you, Elena. You're a lovely young woman, well-mannered. I was glad to see you return, as I'd hoped to get to know you better. And with Lestrange engaged, I know you are safe from him in the future."

Elena had only had some of her water so far and she set down her glass with a clink at that. "Not from you though."

"You would not be in danger with me."

"That's not what I heard," she responded coolly.

Antonin studied her for a moment, took in the scar he could barely see on her chest, though one of her hands rushed to cover it as his eyes darted there. "Did Tom do that?" he said at last, chin resting on one of his hands. She chewed on her lip and he nodded. "I've healed a few of his conquests to recognize his work. I don't leave my women marked up. And my preferences in the bedroom are just that; I've no need to brutalize a lady."

The girl snorted at that, the most unladylike sound he'd ever heard from her. "Is that supposed to comfort me?"

"Yes, actually. You'd be a partner to me, not a toy." He reached for her hand where it lay on the table, but she pulled it away. "Elena," he said, trying to put his earnestness into his tone. "I can promise you that you would be safe with me. I— I have particular tastes, yes, but I promise you I wouldn't do anything truly damaging. Should you go to someone who is less inclined to care for you, someone who is closer to Lestrange, you might not be so fortunate."

"I don't want to 'go' to anyone." Her jaw was set stubbornly as their food came out, though she managed a polite thanks to the server. "I don't intend to be Tom's pet forever, Dolohov—"

"Antonin, please."

"Yes, well. I don't want any of this." She traced patterns on the sweat from her glass. "I'm trying to find a way out."

"I doubt Tom will allow that," he informed her. "Don't forget that he has Marked all of his current followers for life. We are bound to him. He will not let you go. Let me take care of you."

"You can't keep me safe from him."

"He'll be done with you by then; he's currently just enjoying the novelty." Antonin managed to take her hand this time, thumb stroking over the back of it. He'd rarely touched her and certainly not for any length of time. Her skin was soft, the bones of her little hand delicate. There was a bruise on her wrist. "Become boring. Cry and scream and beg and give in to him. He'll find you dull sooner rather than later."

Cynicism lit in her eyes as she said, "Losing his interest may be easier said than done."

"You've been with him once already, yes? He rarely takes the same woman more than that. Another time, maybe two, and he will be done," Antonin comforted.

Her laugh was cuttingly bitter. "He's already had me three times, Antonin. He has a new game to play with me." Elena tugged at her hand, but he gripped it tighter.

"What do you mean?" She was avoiding his gaze. "Elena, tell me. I cannot help you unless you do."

She was silent, staring at something that wasn't there to see, but he waited. Finally, after a stretch of quiet punctuated only by wind, she spoke.

"Every time, he pushes further, to see how much I can take. He's never had anyone who—who reacts the way I do." Her face flushed and her voice was so soft he could hardly hear it. Antonin pulled his chair closer to hers, taking her arm at the elbow to massage her forearm. He waited and his patience paid out once more. "He enjoys the way my body responds to him, to what he does to me. He uses it against me, calling me his little masochist." Something in Antonin thrilled at that, but he kept his expression sympathetic, slow understanding dawning at Tom's new 'game.' "He's cut me and licked my blood like some sort of monster, and it excited him when he realized I could enjoy it, that a part of me could take any measure of— of gratification in the pain. He wants me to hate myself for it but crave it all the same. He wants to destroy me, have me beg for ruin, and build me into something that is in its own way as perverse as he is." Tears had escaped despite her empty expression. "Then he'll be ready to discard me."

"Oh, lovely girl." He embraced her and she took it as she did Riddle's affections. "Sweet, breakable girl. I'll do what I can to take care of you."

Somehow that broke the dam and her quiet weeping became a deluge. She curled against his chest as she cried and he delighted in holding her, her small body wracked with sobs. Tom Riddle would cast her aside eventually and he intended to be the one to catch her.


	42. Chapter 42

As he was wont to do on his late mornings, Tom Riddle stood on her doorstep with a cup of tea as she opened it. Unfortunately, she'd had no idea he was going to show up as it wasn't his usual late day to the shop. Elena had told him the previous day that she wouldn't be coming to see him, she had other business. And here he was.

"Good morning, doll." He pressed a chaste kiss to her cheek as she took the cup.

"Why are you here, Tom?"

His eyes flashed red and she suppressed a shiver. "I thought I would accompany you on your errands. Is that alright?"

It was a question, but it wasn't. Elena sucked in her bottom lip, chewing thoughtfully. Perhaps if she told him he would be merciful and let her go. "Erm, I'm visiting my da today."

His mouth quirked up and he slung an arm around her. "Excellent. It's time I met him."

"Tom, please." She laid a hand on his chest, trying to create space between them. "I'd prefer to see my da alone. He's not well. I don't know how much time I have with him."

"You want to go alone." She nodded and he pulled her in tighter against him. "If I allow it, I want something in return." Fear flickered through her and he chuckled. "Come with me tonight. Abraxas is having some of the men over for drinks. I'll be staying the night and I want you with me."

Elena didn't care for Abraxas Malfoy. He was pompous, misogynistic, bigoted. He saw her as a piece of meat Tom Riddle used and would possibly hand off to reward his followers. Every time she was near him, he practically oozed superiority. "Who else will be there?"

"Nott and Dolohov will both be in attendance, if you're worried about having no one you like present."

"Fine. I'll do it."

Tom graced her with one of his smiles. "Good girl. Make sure to bring a change of clothes. You'll be sharing my bed." He leaned over her, kissing her lips this time, tongue running over her inner lip where she'd often have an imprint of her teeth. "I will expect you no later than eight."

Elena smiled wanly and nodded, then set out on her way.

He weighed so little now; she could wrap her hand around his thin wrists. His breathing was labored.

"Da." Elena kissed his forehead and sat in the chair beside his bed. He'd recently taken a turn for the worse and she was worried there wasn't much that could be done.

He opened his eyes groggily and smiled at her. "Ella-bell, my sweet girl." She took one of his hands in both of hers and kissed his knuckles, then laid her cheek against his hand, holding it there. "I didna think I'd see you again so soon."

Her accent was thicker with both emotion and his mere presence. "Of course, da. I promised I'd come. How are you?"

"Oh, you know, darling." One of his fingers caressed her cheek. "Some days are not so bad and some days…" Jack Mullens shrugged. "But any day where you visit is the very best of day."

"Mmm," she hummed. "My days would be a mite better if I knew you were eating."

"Phaw, everything they make here is terrible. I tell ya, Elle, these wizarding folk need to use less magic when they cook. I think it makes the food lose its flavor."

"It doesn't matter how it tastes, da. You're too skinny; you need to eat and keep your strength up." She released one of her hands from his and stroked his sandy hair. It was lank, dull, full of greys now. That last was from age, but the rest came from the same place as his sallow flesh. "The healers have promised me they feed you nutritious food."

"It tastes like shit," he grumbled.

Elena tried to keep the grin from her face. "How about next time I visit, I bring some fish and chips from that place I go in muggle London?"

Jack yawned and nodded lethargically. "I'd gobble up that."

"Da, are you gonna fall asleep again?" His skin had been cooler than hers lately, as though he were truly withering away.

"Just resting my eyes, Ella-bell."

She nodded, though he couldn't see it. He drifted off almost instantly and she pulled out a book to read, still holding his hand.

Once upon a time, Jack Mullens had been a man whose energy seemed boundless. He hadn't needed magic to make the world a brighter place; he did it with his laugh and his music. She'd known he wasn't a big man; he was only a handspan taller than she was and weighed less now, though he'd had a wiry strength in his prime. His cobalt eyes were always friendly, and his thrice-broken nose added a certain roguishness to his face. He was everything to her and her short visits with him throughout the latter part of her childhood had kept her together.

Even now, with Aurek gone and her mother willing to let things lie, her da was the string around her heart that grounded her in reality. Though she tried not to think about it often she knew he wouldn't stay with her much longer. Every time she visited, he was weaker and thinner; his skin was transparent as though he was he was disappearing bit by bit. When that happened, she wouldn't have anything tethering her to the world, muggle or magical.

"Da." She stroked his worn cheek lovingly. "What am I going to do without you?"

Elena remained at her father's side until the evening. When he woke the first time, she had asked a healer to play one of his favorite compositions. He'd lain there narrating his favorite parts for her, left fingers twitching as his right hand flicked side to side. He was playing along in his head and it wore him out quickly.

At least she managed to get him to eat; it's why Elena was starting to stay for longer stretches of time. She would guilt and cajole him and eventually half of it would be gone. She'd managed all three meals this time, the most he'd eaten in ages.

When he woke around seven in the evening, she knew it was time to leave. It ached, but she'd rather say goodbye to him awake than leave while he was drifting off in the world of dreams. "I'll be back as soon as I can manage, da. And I'll bring your fish and chips."

They exchanged a kiss. "You're too good to me. Love you always, Ella-Bell."

"Love you ever, da."

The healers nodded as she passed; Jack Mullens had been at the hospice for a year and by now they all recognized the daughter of their affable muggle resident. She was among their most regular visitors.

As she popped into her apartment (something she preferred not doing, as a brisk walk was good for the constitution), she hurriedly washed and changed, charming her hair into soft curls lest Tom take it upon himself (he preferred it that way) to do so. Her lips were deep scarlet, the rest of the makeup simple. She put on stilettos last of all and stared at herself in the mirror, sighing. How much she'd changed herself so that Tom Riddle would be pleased with her. Styled up, black hose, heels. At least he approved of her typical day attire (read, business attire). Black skirt with the short sleeved red blouse this time.

Elena glanced at the time. Right, she had almost forgotten a change of clothes. She summoned a simple powder blue dress, undergarments, practical footwear, then her hygiene items, putting it all in a handbag large enough to service. Was there anything else she needed to do? No. And the clock was inching closer to eight. Tom would not be happy if she wasn't there on the dot.

She nibbled her bottom lip irately. There was no use putting off the inevitable. She grabbed the powder from the jar on her mantle and tossed it in. "Malfoy Manor."


	43. Chapter 43

Things were well underway when Elena stepped out of the Floo (open to her and Tom's followers only) into the drawing room. Conversation was clearly underway but halted as Elena arrived.

"Sweetheart, right on time." Tom sat relaxed in a large, handsome wingback chair at the heart of the group. He held out a hand toward her and she crossed, extended her neck for him to kiss her cheek, and allowed herself to be drawn onto his lap. She crossed her ankles modestly and Tom rested his tumbler of firewhiskey on her thigh. "That's my good girl."

Abraxas Malfoy, leaning against the mantle of the fireplace she'd just enter via, looked on with amusement. An older man with dark hair and silver eyes she didn't recognize sat on a small couch, another perhaps less than a decade older than herself beside him. He was handsome, head tipped curiously at her. Nott and Dolohov sat in chairs on the opposite side of those two, and there was another small couch where Abraxas had no doubt sat before. Lestrange occupied it alone now and Elena looked away from him as soon as her eyes lit upon him.

"Who's this, Tom?" said the younger unknown man.

"Ah, forgive my poor manners. Augustus, Arcturus, this is Elena Mullens." His alcohol-free hand was already playing her locks. "Elena, sweetheart, meet Augustus Rookwood and Arcturus Black."

"Mullens?" The man with quicksilver eyes was contemplative. "I've heard that name before."

Elena colored faintly, grateful for the flickering firelight. "I'm an apprentice at Bones, Bones and Trelawney," she murmured.

"Ah, you're helping with paperwork on Reg's case, yes?" At her nod, he smiled. "Good office, that. The Bones have a strong sense of justice and they'll see Reg properly acquitted."

Augustus Rookwood was still staring at her, considering. "This is the girl you mentioned, Brax?"

"This is our lord's little pet, yes," the pale man drawled.

"Hm. She's prettier than you said she was."

"Are you married, Rookwood?" Lestrange queried, that eerie smile on his face. "Tom's going to give her to one of us when he's through with her." His tongue flitted over his lips as his gaze fastened to her once more. "Isn't that right, little one?"

"Must you be so rude, Lestrange." Elena cast a grateful look Antonin's way and he saluted her with his glass.

"Dolohov won't share if it's him that gets her," the near madman whinged. "I share. I'm more than willing to allow others a taste of what's mine, as long they don't break anything."

Antonin grimaced. "It's a shame you're to wed this fall, isn't it?"

"Perhaps someone will favor my bride enough to share should they get the doll," Lestrange retorted.

Elena ground her teeth and opened her mouth, but a touch from Tom stilled her. He was enjoying himself; he savored the envy of others, wanted them to covet his possessions. She was his possession. Oddly it was her position as his that made her of worth to the men more than anything else about her.

"Who wants to wed a halfblood?" Abraxas was far less attractive when sneering, which was whenever there wasn't a woman to seduce or a man to ingratiate himself to.

"I would wed this specific halfblood," Antonin bristled. "If our lord deems me worthy of such. I'd do so gladly."

"Drink, pet." Tom brought his glass to her mouth and she sipped obediently. His voice was low as to not disturb the discussion. One of his fingers traipsed over her lip before he lowered the glass back to her thigh.

Abraxas had summoned the bottle of firewhiskey and refilled a glass that had been full when she'd arrived. Elena vaguely wondered how much the men had already partaken. "Is she that good of a fuck, that Pureblood heirs would lower themselves to bond to her for life?"

Lestrange, Antonin and Nott looked to Tom and the others followed suit. Tom's hand curled around her throat, skimming down to the buttons on her blouse. One, two, three, then stopped, finger pads running over the scar revealed. "You're asking how good my pet is in bed, Abraxas?"

The other man balked. "I— I meant no offense—"

"Don't be silly," Tom cut in. "If I'm to gift her to one of you, I can hardly mind sharing pertinent information, can I?" His hand flattened over her chest, slid beneath her blouse, the bra, and seized upon her breast. He gripped her nipple and twisted it until she laid her head against his shoulder, trying to smother a groan of mortification, pain and desire. "Delightfully responsive, for one. Tight, obedient." He kissed her temple. "And she moans so prettily when I hurt her, though she hates that she loves it. Don't you, pet?" She hid her face until he said, "Now, sweetheart, it's rude to ignore our company. Answer my question for the men."

Her cheeks burned as she turned her head and glanced around the room. Arcturus Black was frowning, Rookwood inquisitive, Lestrange wolfish. Surprisingly, Abraxas was contemplative as his eyes roved her face and Tom's hand still under her blouse. She quickly turned toward Dolohov and Nott. Nott who clearly felt embarrassed for her and Dolohov… She'd never seen that glint in Dolohov's stare before. "How do manage to attract so many sadists, Tom?" It was the first response that popped into her head and she immediately regretted it.

The men around her chuckled, an uncomfortably masculine sound that made her too aware of being the only woman in the room.

"I wouldn't say I'm necessarily a sadist," Abraxas said self-assuredly. "However, I appreciate a woman who is biddable and accommodating to my desires."

"You could take her, Brax," Lestrange eagerly suggested.

Even as he leered at her, Abraxas said, "I won't have my heir be less than a Pureblood." Elena saw Dolohov visibly relax.

"What about you, Rookwood? You're not married, are you?"

The affable seeming man looked startled at the question, but before he could voice anything, Tom said, "Rad, you're trying my patience." That effectively closed the line of questioning. Tom had her sip the firewhiskey a bit more, then refilled the glass and took a swig himself.

"Ah, Tom," said Arcturus suddenly. "I am sending someone your way. She should be into the shop sometime this week."

"Oh?"

The older gentleman nodded as he took a drink from his whiskey, then swirled it in the glass. "Yes. Hepzibah Smith. Awful name, that. Anyway, the woman claims to be a descendent of Helga Hufflepuff herself if you'd believe it. She has some quality pieces Borgin and Burke might fancy purchasing, so I told her there is no finer place to conduct her business than yours."

Tom shifted her slightly on his lap before asking, "And what kind of woman is Smith?"

"A rotund mess of rouge and girlish giggles better suited to those a quarter her age or less," muttered the Malfoy lord; for once the sneer in her presence was not directed her way. It was no less unattractive for that.

Tom was musing; he often pet her absently as he thought much as one would a lap cat. Though she couldn't imagine him with one of those. Perhaps a snake. "Easily handled then?"

"By you?" Abraxas guffawed, a surprisingly inelegant sound. "Child's play."

Arcturus tacked on, "Miss Smith is an old maid and positively melts at a hint of flattery. She's also easily taken in by a pretty face. Yours should have her eating from your palm before you even open your mouth."

They continued talking about Smith and the possible treasures she might hoard (her family was rather well off apparently and there was mention of a suit of armor made by goblins), which led into the wealthy men bragging about their own wealth. It was all the droll sort of boasting that reminded her of boys barely in their teens trying to seem manliest. She tuned out the words and instead focused on the interplay of the men with one another.

It was clear that Tom stood at the head of them, for all his lack of a wizarding name and his humble means. They deferred to him almost instinctually (Abraxas Malfoy the only one who seemed to struggle there). Arcturus Black, whom she'd been surprised to see, was by far the oldest and most experienced of them, arguably the one with the most political sway. Abraxas was the wealthiest and considered himself somewhere around the status of Black. Lestrange ignored Theodorus and had placed Antonin beneath him by virtue of having come to Tom at a later time.

Most people overlooked Nott; it was a mistake. Theodorus Nott was by and far Tom's most intelligent follower at this point. He was resourceful as well. Elena was fairly certain part of his whole "harmless, studious sort" was so others would underestimate him. He was disarming in his quiet, affable way. Placing him at the bottom of the hierarchy was foolish.

Theodorus knew where he stood. Moreover, he knew where everyone else fell behind him and how quickly positions could change. It was there in the deft comments he made when everyone least expected it, the tip of Tom's head as he considered them. When Nott spoke, Tom tended to listen. Theodorus was possibly the person who knew Tom best. He'd been the first "friend" to an orphan boy with a muggle name. Elena had no doubt he'd recognized the potential in a young Tom, and cultivated rapport based on that. Even in their first year, the Slytherin heir had stood out for his power and proficiency.

Arcturus, Tom respected to a degree. He seemed to still be deciding on Rookwood. Abraxas Malfoy seemed mostly useful for his wealth and position, otherwise he was a popinjay of the worst kind. For all Lestrange had been one of the first to gravitate toward Tom (she suspected it was the power and cruelty that drew Rad in), their lord seemed to find him somewhere between a useful tool and a puppy he had to reign in on occasion. Dolohov most definitely placed higher.

It was an odd assortment; Rookwood and Black and Malfoy were appropriately matched in company, but Dolohov's family had only recently extended to England and was thus too new to be a known factor to the others; Nott was an intelligent young heir and made sense to a degree. Lestrange was a loose cannon.

He's testing them, she realized with a start. Even her presence was part of it. He'd wanted to see how his newer followers handled both her and his older followers. Other than Malfoy, they seemed to be handling the situation well.

Elena briefly wondered the extent of their knowledge about Tom; she was sure they knew he was descended from Slytherin and at least a halfblood (no one mentioned it or anything nearing his family). Abraxas had been present at the last little meeting she'd attended, so had probably experienced him at his worst. Did the other two know what he was capable of? If they'd been told, had they believed this handsome, charming young man was a monster capable of murdering a person with as little thought as he would a bug? Moreover, would they care?

As she'd mentally taken stock of everything, Tom had kept feeding her alcohol. Elena maintained small sips to keep herself somewhat clear-headed, but she felt it enough that she had relaxed into his lap. At one point he had her start holding the glass. The men were now on about ministry policies that could impact their personal fortunes. The hand not around her waist started inching her skirt upward and Elena turned to look reproachfully at Tom. He smirked and kissed her.

Unlike the little shows of affection he bestowed publicly, this was rough. It was how he preferred to handle her when alone, nibbling at her lip and his tongue possessively roving her mouth. When he pulled away, she was torn between dizziness and furious humiliation. And his hand was now stroking her bare thigh, having worked her skirt high enough the lace tops of her hose were displayed.

When the lull in the conversation from the action had passed, Theodorus leaned over and said discretely, "My lord, is it necessary to further display Elena so? Lord Black is decidedly uncomfortable seeing her in this state and I worry even Antonin won't be able to control himself should you become more… exhibitive."

Tom deliberated a moment and nodded. "I suppose my point is made, no need to, ah, rub it in."

"Thank you," Elena mouthed as Nott sat back. He half-smiled and shrugged, as if to apologize for the little he could do. It was more than she'd expected. She had started to worry Tom would take her in front of the gathering just to show the violence and power he exuded in sex was no less than any other part of his life.

"Well, I'm afraid I'm not as young and energetic as you lot," said Arcturus once the clock on the mantle proclaimed it to be nearing eleven. "I'm going home to my wife and my bed. Good evening gentlemen, Miss Mullens."

"Good evening," she returned, inclining her head respectfully.

"I should also be leaving," said Rookwood. "Though this evening has been enlightening. My lord." He nodded to Tom. "Gentlemen, good evening." Elena didn't miss that he eyed her speculatively even as he omitted her. If Tom noticed or cared, he said nothing.

Malfoy was studying Tom when she looked back around the room.

"I rather like them," Tom said at last. Abraxas visibly relaxed. "I just hope Black has family members who are more amenable to the things that might happen during meetings. Arcturus doesn't seem to have liked the way I treated my pet."

"His brother is better suited, but we need to secure Arcturus before Regulus can take point," Nott said. "Regulus Black is a bit more unconventional."

"Good."

Abraxas Malfoy had abandoned his spot to take the couch to Tom's left. Elena glanced over at him to see he was staring at the bit of pale thigh that shone still, watching Tom's thumb stroke her absently. He leered when he caught her looking.

"My lord," said Lestrange. "Now that the new recruits are gone, perhaps you could—"

"Radcliffe." Nott's usage of the name was surprisingly authoritative. "There are witches out there who will gladly go to your bed and I know you have no qualms about obliviating them after. Why don't you go down to Knockturn and pick one up rather than bother Elena."

The grin on Lestrange's face was sheepish, but still had the edge of teeth to it. "I like to share. It's more fun that way."

"I don't," Dolohov warned.

The two of them locked gazes, only breaking away when Tom said, "I'm afraid Nott wouldn't enjoy the show were I inclined to demonstrate pet's entertainment value."

"He could leave," Lestrange suggested and Nott fumed at him. "The rest of us wouldn't mind."

"Abraxas, you wouldn't find it distasteful if I used my little halfblood pet right here in your drawing room?"

"I enjoy a good show as much as the next man, my lord." He was watching contemplatively as Tom's hand roved her body. "How biddable is she exactly? Would she perform if you chose?"

Tom chuckled. "She'd get on her knees and suck my cock right here if I commanded it. Wouldn't you, sweetheart?" She nodded, wondering if it was possible for her cheeks to burn so hot, she'd catch fire even as she prayed Tom didn't decide to demonstrate. "I'm afraid they might not have seen that, pet. Speak."

"Yes, my lord," she said softly.

"Yes to what? I want you to tell the men what you'd do for me."

There was not a word in any language that could encompass how much Tom Riddle made her burn inside. Hatred and loathing were far too shallow. She licked her lips, heart pounding anxiously. "I would get on my knees and—" She didn't want to finish, but he stared down at her, waiting. "And suck your—" the words kept sticking in her throat and she was hardly able to stutter them out through the lump there. "And suck your cock if you commanded it, my lord."

Lestrange and Malfoy both burst out laughing. Tom was beaming down at her.

"That is a show I would not mind seeing," Abraxas admit as his laughter had cooled down.

"Yes, well, I can't break the poor thing too quickly." Tom stroked her cheek. "For the admission, I'll give her a reprieve on performing. However, I think we will retire to my room for the remainder of the evening." He cradled her as he stood, lifting her effortlessly. "Good evening, gentlemen."

"My lord," they chorused. She could feel eyes on them until the door closed.

Notes:

Notes on characters in this chapter:

-Tom Riddle is a power-hungry, narcissistic psychopath. He loves having power; he loves displaying power.

-Arcturus Black is not one to rush things; he knows his family has power. He is always interested in furthering that, but conservatively so as not to risk too much and tarnish the House of Black.

-Rookwood is a bit of a wildcard here. He's inquisitive, he's tempted, but he might or might not be sold.

-Lestrange is (in my head) the reason Rodolphous married Bellatrix. He's a psychopath of the variety that needs someone holding his leash, but he's happy to follow as long as he sees a reason to. He is good with sharing because it often ups the ante so to speak and he can further destroy another, belittle, degrade, show his power, etc in that way as well.

-Nott is just uncomfortable. I feel kind of bad for him. He's a Death Eater, but really he just wants power to be safe in a world where he has to hide who he is. He's not a bad guy, but he's more concerned with keeping himself and his place in the world intact than anything else.

-Dolohov is... probably one of the most complex here. Yeah, he's a sadist. Unlike Lestrange, he's not interested in Elena because she's Tom's, nor is he because he sees someone to torment. He genuinely likes her, but he also loves the breakable, delicate things about her. He wants to simultaneously hold he while she cries and be the reason for it, knowing that she loves him at the end of the night (and it's not necessarily Elena so much as the prospect of that with her that he can see).

-Fucking Abraxas. I really had no idea how I'd write him, but man. One, he's apparently a voyeur and an exhibitionist. But he loves power most of all. Not a violent man necessarily, but one who will use violence if he feels it will accomplish his goals. He likes power; he likes being in charge. Mostly because he believes he's better than everyone else.

So we have all these men who want power for some reason or another, half of them sadists who want to be able to do what they do with impunity, and they're all showing off for one another. Throw in one somewhat pretty, quiet, obedient, fearful girl et voila. You get this chapter.

I saw this kind of dynamic with men often while I was active duty (yeah, I was in the military), especially around a fire or in the smoke pit. I was often the only or one of the few women there. I've seen how different people handle being a part of those situations along a spectrum of gender identities and roles, etc. It's interesting and it can be unnerving.

Anyway... that was the inspiration for this. And it led to more things rather organically.


	44. Chapter 44

Antonin had opted to remain overnight as Elena found out when she and Tom joined the rest of the household for breakfast (though the only other party was Abraxas Malfoy himself).

"Lestrange decided to seek out companionship after all," he informed them when Tom glanced around the table askance. "And Theodorus left soon after."

She wore only her nightgown at Tom's insistence. While it was hardly the most revealing lingerie she now owned, she felt she may as well have been naked. Fresh cuts lined her skin, bruises, bite marks. While she'd cleaned up as best she could, Tom had forbidden her from healing anything unless she had to for work. She could feel Antonin's uncertainty as his eyes roved her form.

Elena stroked a finger over a welt on her inner arm. That one had broken the skin and she recalled the moment blood has spilled over her skin.

"Do you like my new spell, doll?" he'd teased. He'd transfigured his wand into a rattan switch and was tapping it across her skin, interspersing the light flicks with ones that would sting and burn. Her hands were stuck to the headboard, legs drawn and tied apart. When she didn't answer fast enough, he'd whipped it against the soft meat of her tricep with such alacrity that she didn't feel the pain of it until her skin parted to allow blood to the surface.

Tom had halted the beating then, sitting beside her with the transfigured wand in his lap, sliding his thumb through the blood to wipe it across her pale flesh. The red was reflected back at her in his eyes and he lowered his mouth to the wound, sucking until she bowed at the sharp pull. He looked crazed when he stood again, her blood smeared across his lips in cruel mockery of lipstick from an enthusiastic kiss. He'd taken the switch to her breasts and stomach then, deciding he wanted to taste the pain wherever his mouth might roam.

"Are you alright, lovely?" Antonin asked. She blinked and tore her eyes away from the wound.

Tom's hand settled on her thigh and she nodded. "Yes. I'm fine."

"I wonder that you weren't able to hear her screams, Antonin. She is rather loud when she comes," Tom said.

Elena blushed and tried to tune out the conversation, though she felt as though Antonin was half speaking for her benefit and half for Tom's. She had to see Dumbledore soon. Tom was going to kill her or drive her mad as he pushed the limits of what her body could endure. She hadn't wanted to get up this morning, but Tom had insisted based on the amount of blood she'd lost in the night. Elena had never seen so much of the sticky liquid before and the thought that it was all hers left her dazed as much as the loss itself.

"You can do all that to her," Abraxas said, gesturing to her body, "and she accepts it?"

"She begs for it," Tom bragged. "In the moment at least; eventually she'll come to me for it. That's when I'll know she's truly devoted."

A chill ran down her spine. That was the point at which he'd finally cast her aside, she realized. She glanced up and met Antonin's gaze, reading the same thought there. He tipped his head and she shook hers in answer. She was not there yet, hoped never to be. That he could drench a bed in her blood and still bring her to orgasm was terrifying; that he wished to go farther still…

She needed to see Dumbledore.

"How bad is it?" the wizard asked, staring at her with eyes that were not currently twinkling. Elena had told him a little, but she was ashamed of the breadth of the cruelty she'd endured. Reading her hesitation, Dumbledore offered, "I may understand better than you think, Elena."

The small woman looked up at that, questioning.

"Did you know that Grindewald and I met before our duel last year?" At her slight shake, he smiled. It was not a happy expression. It made her think of her father, all nostalgia and sorrow. "We started as kindred spirits, intelligent young men who would have passionate debates. Gellert may have loved power as much as Tom, but his… appetites… were nothing I couldn't stand against. Even as a young man, especially as a young man, I did not readily submit to others." He considered her carefully. "It wasn't love, you understand; but it was intense. I have my share of guilt and shame at what happened between us."

Reading the pain of his admission, she laid one of her small hands overtop his own.

"You don't need to tell me— but I would like to know. How bad is it?" he asked hesitantly.

Elena chewed her lip as she deliberated, then took a breath to steel herself, stripping off her robe. She had come straight to him upon Tom leaving her in her little apartment. Her sundress hid the marks on her torso, back, thighs, but what was exposed was enough.

She watched his face as he studied her, the lines on his face deepening as his focus shifted around her exposed skin. Deep furrows and bruises on her shoulders, collarbones. The welts and scars from previous cuts on her arm. She'd dropped the glamor charm on her face and revealed her swollen lower lip and a bruise under one of her eyes. There was no large stretch of skin left unmarked.

"Elena, child." His blue, blue eyes were bright as he reached out for her, holding her hand in both of his. He parted his lips to speak but couldn't seem to find the words at first. His worn, calloused hands squeezed hers. "If I'd had any idea just how— I am so sorry, Elena. We'll figure this out; I'll do something, I promise."

"He's up to something," she whispered. "Other than raising his army and gaining power."

Dumbledore was thoughtful at that. "Do you know what it is?"

"No. He doesn't talk about it, certainly not with me."

"We can find out some other way; our priority for now should be getting you away from him."

Elena sighed, staring down at their joined hands. "He'd have to agree to release me; Tom isn't the sort to just let someone go. I can't hide indefinitely, and he has followers who would be too glad to hunt me down should I go missing. And I don't want to know how much of my blood he has by now. I feel like I'm feeding a vampire, slowly letting it bleed me dry."

"We will figure out something," the man comforted.

Her free hand dug into her pocket and pulled out a slip of paper. She would have to give it to Tom soon, lest he discover it otherwise and punish her for it. She held it out and Dumbledore unfolded it.

The Dark Lord rises and Breaks Himself in pursuit of His desires, becoming More and living Less even as He lives through Death. His Mark is terror and His shadow is Loss, and His hands shall cover the whole of Britannia…

It began to repeat again where she'd torn the paper.

"Prophecies are rather vague, aren't they?" Dumbledore said at last. "Do you know what he desires?"

"Everything." She huffed out a bitter laugh. "He's keen on dark magic; that must be what's breaking him apart. He seems most alive when he's using it or hurting someone, exerting his power."

Dumbledore nodded. "I'll think on how we can extract you from his influence. We should have something soon." He squeezed her hand again. "Please come to me should you need anything, dear girl. Healing potions, contraceptives, anything."

"No need for the latter, headmaster." Elena grimaced. "Tom is eager to supply that himself."

"Well," he said. "Well, that is something, I suppose."


	45. Chapter 45

The owl was most insistent. Usually post came once in the morning and once in the early evening, but this one had come at a little past noon, tapping violently at the window until Prewitt finally opened the damn thing. It fluttered to Elena's desk and dropped a rolled parchment there. It perched on her In tray and hooted irritably.

"Whose blasted owl is that, Elle?" Iggy demanded. "Damn thing almost cut my eye out!"

"I don't know." She eyed it speculatively. "I've got your letter, you can go." It danced anxiously from one leg to another. "Fine, I'll read it." She unrolled it, skimming down the short message and the world closed in around her.

She couldn't quite breathe right and there was an odd sort of ringing in her ears. It muffled out everything around her so she existed in this tight little bubble that felt something like the squeeze of apparition, but her stomach had fallen just like a Portkey. Her body and mind were being pulled apart and the drop of consciousness in it all that was her was somewhere in between.

"Elle!" The hand on her shoulder jarred her out of that strange place and she wheezed in a breath as the world became real again. "You alright, love?"

"Hm?" The paper was sitting there tauntingly on her desk, her hands flat on either side of it.

"I asked if you're alright." He turned her chair and she was suddenly staring at him from far too close. "What's happened?"

She shook her head.

"Elle?" When she didn't respond, Ignatius reached past and took the paper from her desk. His brows furrowed as he scanned it, then softened. "Oh. I'm so sorry, Elle. I didn't think—"

"What's all this?" Edgar Bones had no doubt heard her name called and decided to see what the fuss was about. He froze when he saw one of his apprentices kneeling in front of the other.

Ignatius stood. "Elle's father passed."

"Elle?" asked the big man. He approached her slowly, laying his hand against her back like she would shy away from him. "Are you alright?"

She blinked slowly and craned her head to look up at him. "Um. I'm. I'm fine."

"I don't think you are, dear. Is there anything, perhaps someone I could call?" When she shook her head and kept staring blankly, he frowned. "Prewitt, floo call Borgin and Burkes."

If she'd been able to process his words, she may have spoken up. As it was, Elle sat perfectly still, only the slight stirring of her chest as she breathed and the rare blinks indicating she was still there. Her hands were now curled loosely in her lap, neck bowed. She didn't move even as the whooshing of the fire proclaimed someone had stepped through.

"Elena?"

Tom filled her sight and she focused on him briefly, then went back to staring into nothingness.

"I think I should take her home," he said after a moment. Edgar must have agreed because the next thing she knew, he'd plucked her out of her seat and set off. Within minutes, he was unlocking her door wandlessly. He laid her on her bed and she stayed there, retreating back to that place between worlds and the apathy it provided.

At some point the next afternoon, Elena slowly came back to reality. She wasn't sure whether she'd been awake or asleep, her eyes opened or closed, but she was aware now as she hadn't been since before the letter. She sat up, body protesting after staying still so long, and realized she was in a night gown. She pulled herself out of the blankets, legs up to curl under her, sitting back against her mound of pillows, and looked around her bedroom. Everything was exactly as she remembered it.

Nothing felt the same.

Her bedroom door was ajar, and it creaked open, Dolohov's dark curls coming into view.

"You're up." He seemed surprised. "Can I get you anything?"

She shook her head. "Why are you here?"

"Tom's had Nott and I take turns watching you while he's busy." He sat on the edge of her bed, studying her. "Are you alright, love?"

Whereas yesterday she'd been in a state of shock, now the question struck something raw. Her eyes swam with hot tears and Elena drew her arms around herself. "My da's dead," she choked out, folding her knees to her chest and collapsing into them.

"I'm so sorry, Elena," Antonin murmured, arms enveloping her to pull her to his chest. He worked his way further onto the bed, back against the headboard so he could surround her with his presence, rocking her soothingly. "Shh, love. It'll be alright. Shh." He hummed platitudes to her over and over as he rocked, hands seeking to do nothing more than comfort. But as he told her again things would be alright, she broke her arms apart, forcing his off with her sudden force.

"It won't. You don't understand; it'll never be alright." Her face was puffy and red, still spilling over with tears. "My da was everything to me. He was all I had, my reason to live."

"You're strong, Elena, you can—"

"I am not strong," she cut in. "I endured, that's all. I endured because I couldn't stand the thought of losing him. He was the one, the only person who loved me. Who never hurt me or stood back while someone else did. All he wanted to do was be with me and I with him and now he's gone and there's nothing." Her voice was thick with her accent and sorrow both and at the last word, she collapsed into sobs again. "I've nothing. I'm nothing."

"I could love you, Elena," the man holding her said carefully.

"Oh, I'm sure. Love me like a treasured possession." Her laugh was also a sob. "Damn your love. I don't want it. I don't want to be owned."

He sighed but continued smoothing his hands over her arms and hair, rocking her. "I know," he said at last. "I'm sorry."

She cried herself asleep like that and Dolohov couldn't stomach waking her, so he continued holding her, smoothing her hair from her face and stroking her gently.

Tom found the pair of them like that, Antonin stirring from a drowse as he heard footsteps across the floor.

"Isn't this touching," the dark lord said.

"She woke up inconsolable earlier," Dolohov explained. "I've only tried comforting her."

Tom's dark eyes roved over them. His pet's head was laid against one of Dolohov's arms, this one in her matted hair. His other was on her knee but sought to go no further. Elena was still in the gown Tom had changed her into the previous day and Antonin was dressed as he normally would be in someone else's home. After careful scrutiny he nodded, and the other man relaxed.

"Has she only woken once?"

"That I know of; Nott didn't say anything about it when I took over." Dolohov looked down at the small creature in his arms with something soft in his eyes, tender even. Tom had known his servant was fond of the girl, found her attractive, wanted to do to her the things he himself did. This was akin to the lovesick glances he'd seen between teenagers at Hogwarts. How Dolohov could possess cruelty as sharp as Tom's own, take pleasure in it, and still harbor genuine affection was beyond him. The dark streak in him wanted to rip her away and force the man to help break her down so she could learn to fear them both, so she would cry and bleed and remain broken and Dolohov would be reminded every time he looked at her that she could never love him the way he craved.

It was almost enough to make him groan, his vision hazing over with crimson.

Tom sat on the bed beside them and combed his hands through her hair. His fingers snagged on a tangle and she flinched while still asleep. "She's pretty when she cries, isn't she?" he asked.

Dolohov nodded, but said nothing.

Tom studied the other young man's face, which was now curiously blank of anything; he didn't want to show weakness. It made Tom smile, a slow, cruel baring of his teeth. He kept his gaze locked with Antonin's as he fisted his pet's hair, wrenching her face away from the other's chest. Her eyes popped open as she hissed, staring up at him. His other hand crept up her throat and tightened there just enough that her sleepy pulse sped up.

"What—"

Tom tugged sharply and she fell silent, pain contorting her features. She knew better than to struggle against him, though he could see the curious fear in her eyes.

"Look at her, Dolohov." Antonin did as he was commanded and Tom watched as his pupils dilated, though he held control over himself otherwise. Tom dropped his voice to a conspiratorial murmur, intimate and warm. "You know how she bites her bottom lip? Sometimes I can taste how much she's worried at it. I like to run my tongue over it, suck it into my mouth, sink my teeth in until I can taste her blood at the surface." The hand on her throat moved up, thumb tugging at her bottom lip. She was trembling, but Antonin was entranced as his eyes flitted from her own wide orbs to her softly quivering mouth. "She's delicious, Antonin. She plays afraid, but I always find her so wet when I hurt her. And she kisses so softly, pliantly, like she's begging." Antonin swallowed thickly, lips parting, tongue darting across the parted seam. "Try for yourself."

His head sprang up, staring at Tom incredulously. "My lord?"

"Go on." Tom's voice lowered further as he said, "I know you want her. Take a taste; you've been good. You deserve a reward."

Dolohov looked back down at the girl whose face had gone still, as though hoping her lack of motion would make her invisible. With one questioning glance at Tom, the man lowered his mouth to hers. He was desperate and possessive, one of his large hands cradling the nape of her neck below where Tom's own held her hair. His tongue forced its way into her much smaller mouth and Elena made a small sound in her throat, Dolohov moaning into her in response.

Her lashes were wet, eyes shut once more. She sobbed again, a wonderfully broken little sound. And Tom chuckled as her saw Antonin try to roll his hips against hers, fingers digging into her soft flesh. The girl's hands fluttered urgently around her.

Dolohov tore his mouth from hers, dark eyes feral as he stared down at her. He blinked and something seemed to click. "Elena…"

The girl was crying softly, huddling into her knees as the men's hands removed themselves from her body. She didn't respond to his voice but stiffened when the man she'd thought might be a friend laid a hand on her back.

Tom smirked. "Leave us."

Dolohov couldn't seem to get away fast enough.


	46. Chapter 46

Four days. That's how long Tom Riddle and his followers wouldn't let her alone. She'd wake and one of them— Nott, Dolohov, Tom— would be there. Nott would always try to feed her, would pat her back, try to engage her. Dolohov hadn't touched her since Tom's ordered kiss. He'd tried to apologize, but she didn't want to hear it. She knew Antonin hadn't had a choice, but that didn't make him enjoying it feel like any less of a betrayal.

Tom didn't force more than cuddling, kissing and groping on her; she supposed it was his way of giving her space to mourn. He was both puzzled by the depth of emotion and excited that she was a mess.

The morning of the funeral, he'd left her to get ready at her apartment with sweet sounding words that he would be there soon. Elena had nodded, then sent the downstairs' shop owl with a missive to Dumbledore, begging him to come to the funeral, to help her.

Elena was drowning. For so long she'd clung to the love she had for her father and his for her; without it, all the evils of the world spilled into her mouth, down her throat, sitting heavy in her chest and weighing her down. Everywhere she looked, there was Tom. She was trapped. She knew he was using this as a way to make her dependent on him. Make her need him. In grudging way she had come to trust Antonin, but Tom had taken that little bit of trust and shattered it to pieces. When Dolohov had left that evening, the satisfaction in Tom's eyes had been terrifying. She'd almost been surprised he refrained from taking her.

Elena realized she had been staring into space for half an hour, that she only had so much time before Tom would be back to take her to the funeral home. She padded toward her washroom, bathing without thinking of her actions other than directing her arms; they felt heavy, lined with lead. She huddled in her bath towel after, looking at her wardrobe as though it would make the decision of what to wear for her.

Something beat against the window and she turned, an owl fluttering there. Her lips turned down and she shook as she opened the window. It didn't stay though, dropping the paper on the bed and flying back out. It had a short message in familiar, flamboyant handwriting: Yes.

That was good. Or it was something, at least. She pulled out an ankle-length sundress. It was soft yellow, like the pale little spring butterflies, with touches of black lace and the outlines of flowers. She trailed a finger over the black belt at the waistline. Da had called it her Hufflepuff dress. He'd loved it, so she had worn it often when she visited.

Elena slipped it on, brushed her hair, pinned it back securely, and pulled on a robe. Then she sat on the steps outside of her apartment, hands clasped neatly in her lap.

That was how Tom found her. "Ready to go, sweetheart?" She nodded and took his arm. He'd been with her through all of the planning playing devoted beau to his heartbroken love. In a way it had been easier because he would take over when Elena fell silent. He'd accepted condolences for her while she'd stood with downcast eyes, had shaken hands, had made the arrangements she was terrified to even think of. Thus, he knew exactly where to apparate.

She let him guide her to the front row of the little funeral parlor, sitting beside her with an arm around her, his hand stroking her arm in what she thought seemed like a comforting gesture to the outside world. Elena felt it isolating. Anyone who spoke to her, wanted to shake her hand or hug her, would have to go through him first.

She barely heard the service, though she was invited to speak. Elena had shaken her head; she'd told them before that she had nothing to say. Her only request had been the one recording she'd made of him playing the violin. When it started, she took a depth breath and settled into the pew, eyes drifting closed so she could imagine him. He always wore the expression of the song. That's how she'd think of it, whether it was a sweet and romantic song that brought about dreamy sighs or a sorrowful dirge that brought tears to her eyes. This one was mostly sad, with a hint of something hopeful all the same. She loved the way his hand trembled with such precision as he sawed the bow over the strings, the deft movements of his fingers over the strings. She loved that sometimes he bit his lip the same way she did when he came to a particularly challenging or emotional part of whatever he piece he played. She'd never see any of it again. All she had was this feeble recording that captured only the sound of him, no other part.

When it ended and her eyes fluttered open, Elena realized she was crying. That was normal, she thought. She stood as people came to pay their respects to the man in the casket. There were so many healers from the hospice, some musicians who'd been friends and kept in contact. A few of Tom's minions.

"Oh, darling, I'm so sorry." At that voice, the tears stopped. Elena looked up at her mother. She glanced around for Aurek before remembering he was no longer living.

"What are you doing here?" she hissed.

The regal woman frowned. "I'm here for you, darling. We're all each other has now."

"No. We are nothing. Leave."

"In case you've forgotten, your father and I—"

"You were nothing to him and you're less to me. I thought you'd understood that when I turned down the invitation to your husband's funeral." Elena was boiling with fury that Cassandra Vablatsky would dare come to Jack Mullens' funeral. When she'd been sent word of her stepfather's sudden passing last year, she'd let her mother know in no uncertain terms what kind of man her husband had been and that she would rather rot than pay any sort of respect to his memory.

"Elena!"

"Please leave, madam." The seer turned her haughty gaze on Tom and hesitated. "I would hate for you to have an accident like your departed husband did."

"My husband had a heart attack," she responded, failing to sound cool.

Tom smirked. "Like I told you at the time, he meddled where he should not have and payed the price."

Cassandra Vablatsky's mouth firmed, but she turned and flounced out of the funeral as though she'd developed a sudden allergy.

As they made their way out back to the cemetery, Elena puzzled over what she'd heard. "You killed Aurek?"

"I was hoping you would actually show up to the funeral. It was enjoyable anyway," he said simply.

She hummed and took her place beside the hole in the dirt that would soon be her father's resting place. She hadn't been sad when Aurek had died, didn't regret not going to the funeral. It had apparently given her more time free of Tom.

As she stood, a hint of purple caught her eyes. She turned to see Albus Dumbledore sidle beside her in a grey suit with a purple vest. It was a little odd for a funeral, but she was wearing yellow. His smile was heavy, and she gripped his weathered hand. On the other side of her, Tom Riddle became rigid. His hand tucked her closer into him, but she didn't release Dumbledore's until her father was in the earth and covered over with black soil, all the other guests slowly trickling away.

"I am so sorry for your loss, Elena," the old man intoned. "There is nothing that hurts quite like a loved one's passing."

"Thank you," she murmured.

"If that's all, Elena has been quite tired lately. I should be taking her home." Tom tugged her toward the fence, but she planted her feet. "Elena?"

"I don't want to go with you, Tom."

He stared down at her curiously. "I wasn't aware you had options."

She shrugged. "I suppose I don't have many. But I can choose not to go with you, and you can react accordingly."

"You're being ridiculous," he snapped.

"I have nothing left for you to take," she responded with a voice oddly weighted and empty. "You can continue this until I'm mad or completely broken. But honestly, it's been months. The only reason I obeyed was to keep caring for my father. He's gone, so… If you keep on like this, I'll probably kill myself.

Tom's eyes narrowed. "What kind of game is this?"

"It's not a game, Tom," said Dumbledore. "Elena has lived her whole life under the control of one abuser or the other with only her father holding her together. If he's gone, she might decide to follow him."

"Really?" The young man was seething. "You've stayed alive all this time for your father and now you're ready to just lie down? Let me kill you?"

"Yes."

He rolled his jaw and wrenched her head back to stare into her face. "You've, what? Been waiting all this time to die?"

He couldn't understand exactly what he was seeing in Elena's eyes. His were scarlet and furious; she knew only that she was resigned, placid. When she'd asked Dumbledore what might be beyond life, thinking of her father wilting away on his deathbed, he'd said he liked to imagine that it was the next great adventure. It didn't sound terrible.

"I can't just release you, Elena." When she stayed silent, he pursed his lips. "If there's every anyone you love again, I could use them against you, do you understand?" She nodded. He was considering something; she could see the thoughts whirring behind his eyes. "You're still mine. Even if I allow you to leave for now. What would you do?"

"I don't know," she said simply.

His red eyes glanced back to Dumbledore before settling on her once more. "Swear to me that you will not work with him against me."

Elena blinked. "What?"

"If you give me your oath you will not work with Dumbledore to bring me down, I will release you."

She made to turn to the older man, but Tom's fist was still in her hair. "It's alright, Elena," she heard from behind her.

Slowly she reached into her robes and drew out her wand. "I sweat on my wand and my magic that I will not work with Albus Dumbledore to destroy you." A faint something fluttered through the air and she tucked her wand away.

Tom's eyes still bored into her. "You will take no husband, have no children. Not unless you come back to me. I will have my men track down any child you birth or any man you tie yourself to and murder them in front of you before dragging you back. And then I will give you to the cruelest among them to do as they wish. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Good." He flung her away from him and disapparated before she hit the ground.

Albus Dumbledore held her as she sobbed beside her father's grave.


	47. Chapter 47

Notes:

Tom will not be in this chapter, nor will he be in the next.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

**Part Three**

The first few months Elena looked over her shoulder constantly, sure that Tom Riddle was about to appear. Every pop of apparition, every time she opened her door, she expected him. She'd put in her notice at work almost immediately after the funeral and had cut off any correspondence with Tom's Death Eaters. She had enough savings that she could spend most of her time reading, holed away in her apartment and ignoring the world.

Something changed in December. She was walking toward her apartment when she heard something odd. It was a soft, high-pitched, pathetic sound and she cast Lumos to peek into the shadows of the little back alley. Beneath cardboard and hidden in weeds that had somehow managed to sprout was a fuzzy, squirming ball of kitten. She could hold it in one hand easily.

With the ears close to its head and the way it nosed in the dirt it reminded her of an otter. She glanced around for the mother cat but saw nothing.

Elena had heard once that mother cats sometimes moved their babies or left them in places only to come back later, and one should never move a kitten without knowing it was truly abandoned. With that in mind, she cast an alert to let her know whether it came back and then enchanted the cardboard scrap to keep the little thing warm just in case.

She couldn't sleep that night, thinking about the little thing all alone out there. In the dark hours of the morning she crawled out of bed and down to the alley. No mama cats had come to claim the squirming creature, so she pulled it to her chest and went back to her bedroom.

It was a boy, she found out upon taking it to Magical Menagerie. The owner assisted in getting what she'd need for him and gave her instructions. She would have to wake up throughout the night to feed him, keep him warm before he couldn't create his own heat yet. His bleary little eyes would stare up into her own myopically as she fed, bathed, carried him.

She did the latter a surprising amount, magically altering an apron so she could wear him close to her body. When Albus Dumbledore joined her for tea one morning he was pleasantly surprised when a tiny furry head popped out of her clothing.

"And who is this?" the wizard asked, leaning in to scratch the kitten's head gently.

"Otter. I found him about a week ago." She smiled down at the little creature. "His mother left him, so I took him in."

Albus nodded. "A perfect fit then. Have you thought about what you want to do next, Elena?"

She kept herself calm by stroking the small ball of fluff until he was purring happily against her. "I don't know. I'll need work soon, but I can't go back to where I was. They'll all ask questions about Tom and…"

"I own a lovely little cottage near Portree, you know. It's all one room with an adjoining bath, but large enough for one young woman and her cat," he said speculatively.

"I couldn't—"

"I know you don't feel safe here, Elena. The cottage is sitting there growing cobwebs and dust. There are enough wizarding folk there for you not to feel alone, but you'll have space as well." Albus's eyes were warm as he said, "If you feel you must work, they are in need of a basic potioneer."

"Professor—"

"Albus, dear. You are no longer my student. I'd like to think perhaps we are becoming friends."

She frowned. "I suppose we are. Albus, then. Are you sure? I'm hardly a Potions Mistress."

"You received an Outstanding on your Potions NEWT," he insisted. "They don't need a master, just someone to brew a basic supply so they don't have to waste their time and space on it."

She capitulated of course. Within a week, she and Otter had left the little flat above the apothecary and moved to Scotland. The cottage was perhaps the same size as the place she'd vacated, albeit with a more open floorplan. One front corner was the kitchen, one the sitting area. The back corner was devoted to her small sleeping space and the multitude of bookshelves. It was perfectly serviceable for her needs and Otter was delighted to explore a new floor on his tottering little legs.

The first year was spent getting the place in shape. She eventually painted the outside butter yellow with blue trim. It looked rather homey. Albus helped her put up a small shack for her brewing that was blue with yellow trim. They planted flowers beneath the windows, and she made a little stone path up to her house and between it and the brewing shack. She was in the woods proper, but only a small walk from the tree line. Within a few months all the wizarding folk knew where they could go for their potion needs.

She got rid of her love seat but kept her cushioned chair and added another to it, little side table between them. It was all she needed, as her only true company was Albus. She built shelves into the wall for Otter to climb up and down. He did a wonderful job of keeping rodents and insects away once he had grown large enough. He was a fearsome hunter, though he still insisted on her carrying him like an infant at times. Life was peaceful.

"What's an Irish girl doing selling potions in Scotland anyway?" said the man who'd come to her door only ten minutes before. His name was Donal McKay and he was a decade her senior, though in the wizarding world, the difference between thirty and forty wasn't much of a stretch. He was a widower according to the village gossip, new to their little community. He'd made his first visit to her with a squalling newborn in his arms, and Elena had been somewhat enamored ever since.

"After Hogwarts, I wasn't sure where to go. A friend offered a home here, so I came."

"A friend?" he looked around evergreen eyes wide at his faux search. "And where is the friend now?"

She laughed upon realizing what he was implying. "He isn't that sort of friend. I don't have one of those."

"Why? You're pretty and kind and obviously smart." Elena realized he was flirting with her and shook her head.

"Three bottles of Dreamless Sleep, right?" She busied herself by glancing over the wall of potions in front of her. "For dosage reasons I'll need to know the patient."

When she glanced over her shoulder it was to see him brushing a hand through hair brown with age, the color that blonde children sometimes grew into, hints of grey only now gracing his curls. "My middle one, Andrew. He has night terrors, usually three or four at a time and then they settle down. This cycles through every month, so I like to keep a little in case it happens unexpectedly."

"How old is he?"

"Seven and a might on the small side."

Elena set the bottles on the counter. "You'll want to give him three drops then. With warm milk is always nice. It tastes better that way and soothes something inside."

He studied her face, those eyes bright in his tanned face. "You sound like you know."

She shrugged. "That's a galleon apiece."

Donal slid the coins to her and rubbed at the stubble along his jaw. "Would you like to come for a drink with me some time?"

"Are you asking me on a date?"

"Yes." He grinned and it was a nice one. His face was rather ordinary other than a nose that had been broken at least once, but when he smiled it lit up his eyes and broadened his mouth pleasantly.

"I can't, sorry," she said, hastily looking away she slid the coins into her little money pouch.

He sounded like he was frowning when he spoke again. "I thought you didn't have anyone?"

"I don't."

"Then why—"

"I just can't," she said firmly.

Donal left reluctantly and Elena spent the rest of the day curled up with Otter.

The next time Albus visited, Donal came as well. She had just put on tea for the headmaster when there was a knock on her door. "Sorry, Albus, someone must need a potion."

He nodded and smiled at her, a gentle shooing encouraging her toward her door. When she opened it and saw Donal standing there with a smile on his face and a bag in hand, she didn't know what to say.

"I brought you some strawberries from my garden," the man said, holding out the paper sack. "I hope you don't mind. I noticed you haven't much in the way of vegetables or fruit in your own garden."

"Oh." She took the bag absently and looked between him and Albus. "Er, thank you. What—did you need something?"

"I'm sorry," he responded. "Did I interrupt—"

"Who is this striking young man?" came the booming interruption of Albus Dumbledore. He'd stood to take the bag from Elena and set it on the table. "Albus Dumbledore, pleasure to meet you, Mister?"

"Dumbledore?" Donal repeated. "The Albus Dumbledore. The pleasure is all mine, sir. Donal McKay."

The kettle chose that moment to whistle and she excused herself to deal with the tea; before she knew what had happened, Albus had conjured another chair and he and Donal were sitting and chatting. She sighed and pulled down a third cup.

"Tell me about your children," Albus said.

"The oldest is Janie; she's ten and thrilled to go to Hogwarts next year. I think she might be a Ravenclaw with how she devours books." Donal was smiling fondly as he spoke about his little ones. "Andrew is seven. He's a sweet boy, smart as can be, but shy. And then Daniella is only three. If Andy is shy, she'd downright reclusive. She won't talk to anyone but three of us and barely that, though she is a cuddler and will insist on being read to sleep every night."

"I look forward to seeing Janie next year," said Albus. "It hasn't been long then, losing your wife?"

"No, but it was a long time coming. She was always a frail woman and after Daniella was born…" he trailed off, shrugging. "I miss her of course, but I'm at peace with it now."

Albus followed his gaze to Elena. "And you still have a long life ahead of you."

"Yes, well. I've asked out Miss Mullens here a few times, but she keeps turning me down."

Elena was uncomfortable under their scrutiny. "I have some personal issues I need to resolve," she said at last.

"Something from your mysterious past?" Donal asked.

"Yes."

"Alright then," he said. "I'll wait." Donal stood. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Headmaster Dumbledore. Elena, I'll see you soon. Enjoy the strawberries."

Once he'd left, Elena loosed a sigh.

"Would it be the worst thing?" Albus said at last. "To have a few dates with the widower?"

"I can't marry, so what would be the point?" she asked.

"To have someone, Elena."

"If Tom found out…" she shook her head. "I can't risk that."

"Elena, no one has heard anything about Tom in three years. Perhaps give the man a chance. Don't marry him then, but don't spend your life alone." He laid one of his aged hands over hers. "A life without love is not what your father would have wanted for you."

"I'll think about it."


	48. Chapter 48

It took years for Elena to finally agree to a date with Donal McKay. He was the perfect gentleman and they had dinner and a drink at the local tavern. He walked her back to her little home and laid a gentle kiss on her cheek before her bade her good evening.

That evening Elena had nightmares of the man being tortured by a monster with burning red eyes. She refused to go out with him again.

"Was it that bad?" he asked. "Ella, please tell me what I did to upset you."

"No, not at all." She was brewing in her back house and he had come to asked her once more to see him. "It's not that, Don. It was lovely and I appreciated everything."

His eyes were pleading. "Do you not like me then? I know I'm a bit older than you and I have children—"

"What? It has nothing to do with any of that." She sighed and set aside the knife she was using to slice liver. She owed him some kind of explanation. "Something happened to me when I was younger. It was bad. Terrible. It turned me off romance entirely and the night we went out I had horrible dreams." Elena finally faced him, the older man wringing his hands as he listened. "I thought perhaps that I was over it, but I'm not. I'm sorry, I can't be what you want."

"Ella." He stepped forward, laid a hand on her cheek. "I'm not going anywhere. If you can't be with me, we can be friends, yeah?"

"Alright," she agreed after a moment. "I can do that."

Her heart had started thudding so loudly in her chest when he touched her that she was sure he could hear it and would call her bluff; he didn't, but that was alright too.

"I'm interviewing teachers for Defense Against the Dark Arts," Dumbledore said, stirring much more sugar than Elena deemed necessary into his tea. Albus had a sweet tooth to rival any child. "I've had a few applicants already."

"Oh?" Elena waited, seeing that he had more to say.

"On Sunday I'm interviewing Tom Riddle."

Her tea spilled across her lap and she blinked rapidly at him. It took a moment for her to regain her faculties and ask, "Why?"

"I will interview him because he may very well be qualified." Albus sighed. "And to see what has become of him. I have heard so little the last decade or so; I confess, I'd hoped he'd disappeared."

Elena worked to slow her pulse. She hadn't had any prophecies in years and had gone back to her habit of throwing them out upon waking without reading them. It was liberating. Now she wondered whether there was anything important in those visions. "Would you hire him?"

The older man sighed. "Not unless he's changed."

For the first time in a while, she fingered the scar at her sternum. "I don't think that's possible."

"Probably not," he said.

They sat in silence for a few moments before Albus decided to touch on another sensitive topic. "How is Donal?"

Elena blushed. "He's… well. We visit one another about twice a week. Now that his oldest isn't at Hogwarts anymore, he has more reason to be home. Janie comes here on her own often too. She likes brewing with me sometimes, says it reminds her of school."

"And how are things between you?"

"We are not a couple, Albus. I've made it clear several times." She rubbed at the back of her neck. "We care for one another, but we've not done more than exchange a few kisses. He's so patient, so understanding. They were all instigated by me. He would never…" She shook her head. "Every time we've come close to something, I'm hit with panic. It's gotten a touch better over the years, but if Tom is back…" The two were inseparable. She tried to lie to herself that she wasn't head-over-heels for him, that his children hadn't become hers over the decade since he had agreed to their strange friendship, but anyone who saw them together saw the truth.

"No marriage, no children." Dumbledore took her hand in his. Over the years they'd gotten more comfortable exchanging affection. She'd realized somewhere down the line that the man was just as lonely and starved for touch as she was. "You should be safe. Tom never said anything about relationships otherwise."

"How do you think he would react if he knew I became involved with someone?" She laughed bitterly. "I couldn't bear something happening to Donal or the children." Elena stared down at her teacup, eyes growing wide to keep the tears that suddenly formed from spilling. "In the beginning, I was more terrified of being handed to Lestrange. But the first time I went out with him, I had a dream that Donal was being tortured. I could still hear his screams echoing in my head when I woke up. No, the careful balance I walk now is risky enough. I'll not chance it."

The man rubbed his thumb along the back of her hand. "Perhaps Tom has forgotten? It's been a long time since you made that promise."

"I'll never know, will I?" The corner of her mouth tugged upward. "I have you at least."

"You always will, my dear."

"What's wrong?"

"What?" Elena nearly dropped the bottle she was holding.

"You're all over the place today, love." Donal laid his big, calloused hands over hers. "I haven't seen you so shaken before. What is it?"

"Nothing," she insisted.

As she placed the bottle on the counter, he slipped his hands to her waist, leaning to touch his forehead to hers. "I'd like to think we're close. As close as we can be given the circumstances. You know how I feel about you."

She shook her head, but he pressed on.

"Ella, I love you. I've told you I don't care about your past and I won't pressure you into anything you don't want. But I know you feel something for me too." Her eyes drifted shut, unable to look up at him. "If you don't want to tell me, that's fine. But I would like to at least be here for you. Let me do that?"

"I can't," she murmured. "I can't, Don. I'd tell you if I could. You must think I'm a fool, letting something from so long ago stop me from living. Gods, a middle-aged woman and I am driven to tears at the whisper of my past."

"You're not a fool." He laid his lips on her forehead. "But it is hard to escape a past one won't face."

"I don't think I can face this."

Donal pulled her to his chest. "Then I'll help hide you."


	49. Chapter 49

Donal had been wrong; she was foolish. Over the years (nearly two decades) since she'd seen Tom Riddle, she thought she'd changed. She wasn't taller or more beautiful or confident. She wasn't terribly accomplished. All she had to her name, considering Albus owned the home where lived, was an ancient cat and her little belongings.

Staring at herself in the mirror, she had changed, though not in the ways she'd have liked. She kept her hair short, chopped above her shoulders so it wouldn't get in the way of her potion making. Elena was older, not quite the waifish little thing she'd been when she was younger, though she still was tempted to forgo food when she was anxious. She was still fair, her skin usually protected by the forest around her. She even had a few grey hairs among the blonde now.

Somehow when she looked at herself, all she could see was the broken girl he'd trailed after him for a time.

Elena shook her head and tried to focus. She was wearing trousers, which were far more practical when Elena went foraging. She was glad it was becoming a norm, as there was something empowering about not having to worry about flashing leg or sitting primly. A simple blouse, winter cloak. It was cold and it would be even colder where she was going.

Before apparating she reminded herself again that this was foolish. She didn't know what she hoped to accomplish; Donal was wrong about facing her fears. Facing Tom Riddle was facing the Devil, and one should only do that in Hell.

She apparated to Hogsmeade and walked slowly toward the school. Her breath was white in the cold night, like a ghost in front of her face. The stars were crisp above, the moon shining. It was a beautiful, quiet night. Elena pulled her cloak tight and paused when she reached the doors to the entrance of Hogwarts. She'd passed through those doors so many times as a student half her lifetime ago. This was her first time passing that threshold as an adult.

Her shoes made little noise on the floor and that probably was responsible for the shock on the face of the person she almost ran into as she turned a corner.

He was tall, slim, and horrifying. His features were somehow twisted, skin waxy and sallow. His eyes were red and strange. Even his scent was like something from a reptile house, musty and dangerous. That he wore unrelieved black did not help his appearance. She gaped at him in disbelief and he tilted his head with all the stiffness of a bird, inspecting her in turn.

"Elena?"

She took a step backward and one of his hands snatched a wrist to hold her there. His skin was cold. "Tom?"

His smile was predatory and stretched the skin of his mouth garishly. "Have you come to visit your hero? He's in his office. Finished with me in a matter of minutes."

She tugged at her wrist, but his grip was iron. "I should be going, actually. I have to—to feed my cat."

"Oh, no, doll." He pulled her closer. "Don't run so soon. Come and have a drink with me; some of the men are at the Hog's Head. They'll be thrilled to see you."

Elena felt as though she'd stepped into a horror novel, faced with this inhuman creature. What had Tom done to turn himself into this? "I am not coming back to you." He had released her finally.

"Is that what I said?" He bored into her with his bloodshot eyes. "Come. Visit a while. Nott is there and I'm sure you and he have much to catch up on. One drink, sweetheart, and then you can visit the old codger and go back to your dull, lonely life."

There was a challenge in those words, and she realized a part of her wanted to take it. "Alright."

Disbelief fluttered across his face before he smirked. "Excellent." He held out his arm, but Elena shook her head. "I'm not going to hurt you, love."

"You feel like a corpse. I'd rather not."

Tom laid a hand to his chest as if struck by her. "That is cruel. But as you wish." He held the door open for her, his gentlemanly actions made mockery by his awful face and the cold gleam in his red eyes. He stood as close as he could to her during their walk without actually touching her. It amused him to brush against her and see her increase the distance every time.

"What do you do now, pet?"

"I make potions," she said. "And you?"

"A little of this, a little of that. Where do you live?"

Elena ground her jaw. "In a forest."

"Doesn't that sound quaint," he drawled. As horrible as his face was, his voice was almost as she remembered it, if aged. She would have thought it aged well but there was a quality to it that was as though his tongue didn't work right in his mouth. "And you have a cat."

"Yes. His name is Otter. He's…" She thought a moment. "He's about eighteen now."

She could feel him eyeing her throughout the walk, feel his gaze stroking what little of her body he could make out with the cloak as she walked. "You've aged rather well."

"You haven't."

The cold, high laugh that was his truth rang out. "It's the price of power, sweetheart."

"I always hated that. It's not normal, you know."

"What isn't?" he asked.

"How often you use pet names. No one says them at the end of every sentence, Tom." She spat the name, knowing it would irritate him.

"I've never cared to do as others might, sweetheart.?"

They reached the pub sooner than she'd thought, the walk passing in silences only broken by Tom attempting to goad her. She was proud of herself for keeping a cool head. Tom played the gentleman again by once more holding the door, ushering her inside. As he followed, he laid a hand on her lower back, guiding her toward the little booth hidden in a corner.

Dolohov was the first to see her. He looked distinguished with the barest touch of grey at his temples, curls loose around his face. He stood, throwing a telling glance at the others, and they followed suit. "My lord," the chorused. Dolohov's eyes hadn't left her, not even as he sat back down and heard Tom laughingly inform them he would not be teaching at Hogwarts.

"Sit, pet," Tom commanded. He'd slid in beside Nott, Rosier at the innermost seat of the booth. "There's room beside Antonin. Isn't there, Ant?"

"Please," said the man himself. She glanced around the table, noting the changes to them all. Nott was frowning at her, Mulciber curious, Rosier unconcerned. Elena lowered herself into the offered place. "Would you like a drink?" Before she could answer, he had called over a serving woman. "What would you like?"

"Er, I—um. Butterbeer, I suppose."

Dolohov nodded at the woman and within a few minutes, Elena had a bottle in front of her. Dolohov was still staring.

"A little age looks good on her, doesn't it, Antonin?" Tom asked, clearly amused at the spectacle he'd orchestrated.

"Yes." He swallowed and placed a hand over hers. "I wasn't sure I'd ever see you again," he said softly. "I hoped, but never counted on it."

Elena slid her hand out from under his. "I haven't returned, Antonin. I'm here for a drink, nothing more." His eyes were sad, but he nodded and didn't reach for her again.

"How are you?" He sounded genuine in the question.

"I'm well."

"Lonely little thing, I'm sure," Tom said. "You have been a good girl, haven't you?" He gazed pointedly at her ringless fingers. "No husband, no children."

She met his gaze evenly, emboldened suddenly. "As if you would know."

His eyes burned with sudden fury. "I would know, sweetheart. And I would make you watch while I gutted your lover. No, you've been good. Your cat is the only one to warm your bed."

"You have a cat?" Nott asked.

"Yes. He's a bit old, but he's a wonderful companion," she said. "I'll be distraught when he passes, though he's lived a good life."

Nott nodded. "Have you read anything good lately? I came across an interesting academic work recently. Arithmancy and Law. You'd like it."

"Who wrote it? I'll have to get a copy."

"Nonsense." Nott waved that away. "I'll send you my copy. I'd love to read your thoughts on it."

Elena had forgotten how effortless it was to be friends with Theodorus. He was an intelligent man and age had merely cultivated that trait. Between the two of them they could have talked until Ab shut down the pub. With Tom putting in his own opinions, Elena could almost pretend this was before he'd ever cursed her, before her date with Daniel Johnson, when she'd still felt some form of fondness for the little crew, unwilling and foolish though it was.

By the time she'd finished her butterbeer she'd agreed to exchange correspondence with Nott.

"I'll owl you tomorrow," she promised. "But it's getting late and I should go."

Tom grabbed her hand before she could stand and brushed his lips over the back of it. His tongue flicked out and she tried to pull it back to no avail. "You taste exactly as I remember. Delicious. Too bad you wouldn't agree to an evening of my attentions." He sighed and released her; Elena wiped the back of her hand against her robe in disgust. "Dolohov, walk her to the apparition point."

"I can walk myself," she said.

"I insist." Tom bared his teeth in what now passed for a smile on that horrid face. "Until next time, sweetheart."

She reluctantly took Dolohov's arm, nodded to them all, and nearly pulled the large man along out of the pub.

"You don't have to be alone," the brooding man said as they began to walk toward the edge of the village. "I haven't married."

She laughed. "I told you. I will not belong to Tom Riddle."

Antonin flinched slightly at that but didn't correct the name. "He doesn't involve himself in family matters for the most part. I think if you had stayed, he soon would have allowed you to do as you wish."

"He was killing me, Antonin." Elena shook her head, her short hair tickling against the back of her neck. "You saw how far he would take things, the cuts? Do you think he would have ever stopped?" She sighed. "I have scars all over my body. It is enough for a lifetime."

"I could take care of you."

"I don't need you to," she retorted.

"Elena." He turned her to face him and she realized that, though he was a large man and she was a small woman, she wasn't intimidated. "I have held on for so long hoping you would come back." He stroked her cheek, the other at her waist. "I regret what happened more than I can say. I know you must be lonely. Let me help."

"I am not lonely. I have people."

Jealousy and anger lit upon his face. "Oh? Do you have a lover, then?"

"Don't be silly, you heard what Tom said."

"But you have a man you love, even if you do not go to his bed." He stared down at her and read it there. "I'll tell him."

"And send a man who's guilty of nothing to his death?" She scoffed. "You think that will make me run into your arms? I hold this man at arms' length for his own sake and you would have him killed for it from spite."

His face crumbled. "I've tried to have other women, Elena. None of them last because none of them are you. I look into their faces and all I see is yours, tears streaming your face as I kiss you. Give me a chance and I will do anything, everything for you."

She allowed herself to be pulled against him, his breath skimming hotly over her mouth. "Would you?" At his nod, she smiled sadly. "Leave him. Leave Tom's Death Eaters, then." His eyes flinched. Elena sighed and shook her head. "Move on, Antonin." She pressed a chaste kiss to his lips and pulled away, disappearing into the night.


	50. Chapter 50

His name was death and his sign was terror. Elena watched as the world started to burn around her. Good wizards and witches turned up dead because they had the wrong parents. That awful symbol appeared over houses and families would stand outside sobbing, afraid to go inside and see their loved ones dead.

"Do you think Albus will do something about it?" Don asked her one evening as they sat outside her home. He'd tugged her to his side and she was leaning against the warm weight of him. "I imagine he's the only one who can."

"He's doing what he can," she said, staring out into the dark forest.

"Maybe we should offer to help next time he comes for tea."

She stiffened. "How could we possibly help the greatest wizard alive fight the darkest wizard?"

"We can try." He nuzzled the top of her head. "You're intelligent and he values you, Ella. Albus would appreciate your help."

"I can't."

"Are you afraid? I can do it for you, darling."

She turned in his arms to stare up at him. "I can't, Don. For the same reason I can't be with you."

He smiled. "You are with me."

"Not the way we'd like," she reminded him. "Don't try to fight him. Stay out of it, please."

"Why? He's a monster, Elle, people need to fight. Janie is terrified for her family; you know her husband's a muggleborn. She's scared someday she'll come home and he and the children will be gone."

Elena pulled her gaze away from him, staring back into the darkness. "I can't do anything. I would if I could."

"Why?" When she said nothing, he repeated himself. "Why? Elena, I have been patient and understanding. It's been decades and I have let you keep your secrets, settling for only this sliver of you. Can't you tell me this? Just this once let me know something. Let me in."

She turned back to him, studying his lined face, a face she'd grown to love long ago. What could telling him hurt now? She'd never told anyone all of it, not even Albus. However, Donal was more than that. He was her partner in every way but the bedroom. They shared everything with one another barring that final intimacy and the bonds of marriage.

"Dammit, Elle. There's nothing you could say or do that would stop me from loving you. I wish you could trust me."

"I do," she said at last. "I do trust you." She took a deep breath, closing her eyes and releasing it slowly, then nodded. "Alright. I'll tell you. But you have to understand, I've never told anyone all of it. I'll have to start at the beginning, and it's a long story." She pulled her companion's hand into her lap, staring down into her palm. "It's—it's not easy."

"I'll listen."

"I've told you about da. He was a muggle with a muggleborn sister. He adored her and the wizarding world. He stayed a part of it even when she passed. And that's how he met my mother. She was a seer and a pureblood, so when she got pregnant, she tried to hide it and left me with my da. But she stayed childless otherwise. Her husband was grated by this. He— he wanted children and made preparations to divorce her for someone fertile and younger. She was desperate when she told him about me and didn't expect it to make a difference. It did. He wanted me the moment he saw me." She looked up at him with sorrow tightening over her throat. "He was not a good man and what he saw when he looked at me was not the way a father should see a daughter."

Donal swallowed, tightening his hand so he could hold hers, but didn't speak.

"Da was sick, so I agreed to live with them if they would ensure his health. It was a child's foolish decision. Had da known what a monster my step-father was I'm sure he would have refused and found a way to take care of me. But I was so young and just wanted my da to be okay. And that would be my downfall over and over."

From there she explained her gift and why she'd chosen to hide it, how that impacted her time at Hogwarts and how it brought her to meet a cruel boy who would change her life. She told him how Tom cursed her when she dared have a butterbeer with a muggleborn, how he ingratiated himself to her mother and threatened her step-father. She poured out how she'd hated his caresses, his little kisses to her cheek and her forehead. She told him how Tom had made all of his followers Cruciate her, and how Dolohov and Lestrange had looked at her during it. When she told him about leaving Hogwarts and her attempt to get away, she saw hope flicker over his face.

"I should have known it wouldn't last. When we finally ran into one another, he Cruciated me himself. And it was every bit as terrible as he promised." Elena wiped away a tear that had fallen. "And everything became so much worse after that."

The night of her afterwork event, waking to find a healing wound on her chest. That was one of the hardest parts for her to speak. "I cover myself to hide the scars he's given me." She unbuttoned the top three buttons of her shirt and laid his fingertips against the scar on her sternum. She told him about Antonin trying to court her, about her father's death, about the kiss. By the end of it, she was sobbing and there was a hint of shadow through the leaves, the first sign of morning.

"And when I saw him, though he was a monster, it was still him. He knew. He knew that I had kept my word and took joy in my loneliness." She rubbed her cheek against the warm material of his shirt. "Dolohov threatened you. Said he'd tell Tom I found someone, and I had to guilt him, remind him that I knew better than to touch you. I've been so afraid that one of them would show up here and see what you mean to me, and I can't bear it."

"Shh, darling," he said, rocking her. His arms were large and warm and safe around her. "Gods, Elle. I can't believe you lived with all of that."

"I'm a coward, I know. I should have done something along the way, but I was scared."

"No." His arms tightened around her. "You are not a coward, Elle. To live so long with all of this inside of you? To build a life here, to love after what you've gone through. You are not a coward, love. You are brave beyond words."

"Don't fight him. I can't lose you. Stay out of it."

"I'll say out of it. For now at least." She nodded and gently kissed his lips before returning her cheek to his chest.

Elena thought nothing of the short visit Albus paid her that evening. He sipped his tea as usual, stroking his grey beard contemplatively.

"What?" she asked. "You have something on your mind, I can see it."

"There is something," he said, eyeing her. "How would you feel about teaching at Hogwarts?"

"Teaching?" Her brows rose. "I hadn't ever thought of it. Is a position open?"

"Divination."

"Ah." Elena laughed, shaking her head. "It's a useless class, Albus. You can't teach people to become seers; they are or they aren't. They'd all be better off taking Arithmancy."

"You realize the irony of that?" he asked.

"It's because of my gift that I know the truth better than most." She smiled, shaking her head again. "No, Albus. I'm not going to teach Divination to a bunch of children who will try to use it to figure out who has a crush on them. Let me know if another position opens and perhaps. And not Defense Against the Dark Arts. Tom's cursed enough of my life."

"How are things with Donal?" the elderly wizard inquired.

"He's worried about Tom's rise, but he and I are happy with one another as much as we can be. He'll be over for dinner later."

"I'm glad you found one another."

She nodded. "He's made my life just by being in it."

"Love often does that."


	51. Chapter 51

Albus came to tell her the news himself. It was cool evening. She'd heard already of course but was anxious to hear from the great wizard.

"Is it true?" she asked upon opening the door.

"It is." He swept through the door and into his usual chair, the purple one among the two cerulean pieces. Elena had relented years ago and purchased an additional seat for her visits from Donal with either one of his children or Albus Dumbledore as company.

"What happened?"

The man unsteadily poured himself a cup of tea and shook his head. She'd baked lemon biscuits in anticipation of his arrival, but he didn't seem to see them. "I'm not entirely sure yet. From what I gather, Tom went after the Potter family and murdered James at the door. Lily, I think, sacrificed herself for her son. And the killing curse cast on the child rebounded, hitting him instead."

Elena sobbed drily into her hand. She was not a mother herself but had helped Donal raise his children as much as she dared since he'd entered her life. His grandchildren called her Nana Elle and she doted on them. "The boy?"

"He's alive. Orphaned, but alive." Dumbledore shook his head again. The usual sparkle in his true-blue eyes was missing and he looked even older than his century age. He looked ancient and tired beyond words.

She didn't want to ask the next, felt it was callous and selfish in the face of the tragedy the infant child faced, but she had to know. "Is he… gone?"

The flinch in the old man's eyes cut at her heart. "I'm not sure. I have suspicions, but nothing I can say for certain yet." He looked up at her. "I do not think he is fully gone yet, but I do think that, for now at least, we are safe."

The flutter of hope she'd felt at originally hearing the news battled terror in her core. "How long do you think?"

"I can't say. I'm sorry for that, Elena. I wish I knew more." He draped an arm around her shoulders, leaning his withered frame toward her. "You should live while you can. Enjoy your freedom."

"If he comes back and finds out—"

"Do not marry, do not birth children. You need not do either if you're afraid," he gently reminded. She nodded slowly.

"That is something." She smiled into her lap. "It's more than I ever thought I'd have. I—I'm grateful."

She told Donal that evening when he stopped by for dinner. It was a tradition between them. She would not live with him, but she always ended her day with him there. They would eat, talk, sometimes exchange kisses while they watched the evening lengthen before them. In the morning he would come for tea, so their days would start together too.

"What does this mean for us?" he said gently, not wanting to push this woman he adored too far.

She laid her head against his arm, let out a considering breath. "We can't marry. We can't have children; I'm getting old for it anyway. But we can be together for now."

Donal wrapped her in an embrace and the steady beat of his heart was soothing against her ear. "That's enough for me. Having you in my life is enough."

"You've been too patient for me," Elena murmured. "Most men would have given up, found someone who could share their home and their bed by now."

His chuckle was sad, but warm. "I had the perfect woman once. She was my everything and she gave me beautiful children to adore long after she was gone. I never thought I'd find someone else who could fill my heart the way she did. I wasn't going to let you go without a fight just because we had some restrictions. Carnal pleasures are wonderful, but nothing to being able to walk alongside you for the rest of my life. And if we have only a short time to enjoy one another physically?" He shrugged. "We'll make the most of it."

She nodded but said nothing.

He stayed with her that night, the first among many. They didn't do anything but hold one another, delighting in this little difference. It was such a small thing, but to sleep entangled with each other was an intimacy so great they didn't want to lower it with anything else.

They had years to explore.

"I don't know why you and dad don't marry," Janie said as they waved goodbye to her children. The four of them who were already in Hogwarts had their faces pressed to the windows as they returned the eager gestures.

"Perhaps one day." Elena smiled at the woman who was nearly a daughter to her, shuffling the weight of the three-year-old on her hip. How Janie handled six children was beyond her, let alone two sets of twins. The three-year-old clung to her mother's skirt.

"Nana, ice cream?" said the small girl.

She laughed and shook her head. These children would be the death of her. "Fancy a trip to Fortescue's?"

"I suppose with just the four of us it won't be too bad," Janie said. "Alright."

They ordered their cones (Janie had a Drooble's bubble gum flavored scoop, the twins both had birthday cake and Elena settled for a decadent chocolate) and walked about Diagon. She had started going out to more metropolitan areas since Tom's fall. Everything seemed brighter, righter without him. She pointed out changes from her own youth as they strolled, and Janie recalled the few times she'd been as a child to get things for school.

"I found Otter in that alley," Elena said fondly. "He was a wonderful cat. I'm still surprised he lived as long as he did."

"That fat old man cat of yours." Janie chuckled. "You haven't had a familiar since he passed, have you?"

She hummed thoughtfully. "I suppose I haven't."

Janie nodded toward the shop ahead of them. "Why don't we take a look? If you're not going to move in with us, at least you can find something for company when dad can't visit."

They strode into the crowded shop and it took Elena a moment to get her bearings in the face of so many cages, tanks, posts, all the cooing and growling and yowling, and the mingled scents of all the animals. Nora began fussing on her hip as Ellie toddled toward the pen of Puffskeins.

"They're fine," the store owner assured, so Elena let the little girl join her sister and began roving the shop. She didn't mind rodents, but they never appealed to her. The thought of a snake was one she couldn't abide. No toads or frogs for her either. In fact, she was clearly a fan of cats and kneazles above all other creatures. There was a pen of gamboling kittens along the spectrum from pure cat to pure kneazle. Some of them were curled up sleeping with one another, some were playing, others were watching or grooming or any number of kitten activities.

As she watched, one of them stretched up to sniff her hand where it rested on the clear container. It then started purring loudly and nuzzled against her. "Hello there. And who are you?"

The little kitten was a few months old, plump with its youth, and had a fuzzy red body ticked with white. He had tufts at his ears and one at the end of his tail, but he wasn't full kneazle. He was closer to an ordinary red tabby than that and the soft chirp he emitted as he pushed against her fingers reminded her of Otter.

"I see you've met Cato," said the owner of the shop. "He's a bit of trickster, that one, but he seems to like you."

"A trickster?"

"Certainly. He likes to play injured during mealtimes to get the others to crowd him, then get to the food first."

Elena laughed. "Sneaky little cat. May I?" At the nod, she pulled the little ball into her hands and held him against her chest. Cato chirped again and nosed her chin affectionately before starting to gently knead her chest. "I suppose I'll have to take him home then."

Cato adored Donal. The first time they met the cat immediately crawled into the man's lap and fell asleep. He stayed there for hours, purring loudly anytime Don stroked a hand down his mandarin fur. He was more energetic with Elena, romping and darting after her as she worked throughout the day; the moment Donal appeared, he'd settle down. On the evenings they spent together, he would curl up at their feet and while away the night with them unless they were otherwise engaged.

Life was lovely. Donal was a passionate lover, but ever mindful not to actually hurt or harm her. She'd been terrified at first, given her history, that the only sex she could enjoy was the barbarism Tom Riddle had laid on her. She was pleased that it wasn't the case.

He was patient with her as well, reminding her as they slowly explored each other that he had been decades without as well. They slowly found their rhythm. They spent so much time together that strangers began assuming they were married and neither bothered much to correct the mistake. For all that they technically lived apart, Elena had had to purchase a larger bed to accommodate the man in her life.

Gradually, the worries and nightmares faded. She loved and was loved without fear.


	52. Chapter 52

She knew something was wrong when Albus asked to visit her outside their usual Sunday afternoon tea. It just was a feeling, but a strong one. Donal made sure to stay with her that day, helping her bake lemon biscuits and cut little sandwiches for the three of them. They worked together in silence and harmony borne out of decades of partnership. How long had she loved him now, three decades? It was strange to think of life without him and his grandchildren and the little ones Janie's oldest had had last year.

When the wizard's signature knock sounded on the door, Don answered and let him in while she brought over the tea tray.

"Albus, welcome. Would you care from some tea?" she offered.

"Please, that would be lovely." She poured three cups and made her own and Donal's to their tastes, the professor adding his heaping spoons of sugar. "Ah. You always steep it just right."

She laughed. "Not that you can taste it under all that sugar."

"Nonsense! The sugar brings out the taste even more." He sat with the teacup on his knee and for once he didn't seem oddly large, nor the cup particularly small. In his advancing age, the wizard had become more in line with reality.

"Biscuit?" said Donal. The recipe was from his great-grandmother and he took great pride in the perfect consistency and the balance of sweetness with the slight hint of lemony tartness.

"Yes, thank you," the centenarian said, taking a few from the proffered plate. "These are delightful, you must share the recipe someday."

"Then however would we convince you to keep coming, Albus?" she quipped. "We all know you're only here for the McKay family lemon biscuits."

"You know me too well."

They munched on the snacks and sipped their tea, enjoying the quiet afternoon. They were unhurried, despite Elena knowing it was a matter of time before Albus told her the reason he was here. It wasn't an emergency, so she could wait.

At last, setting down his second cup of tea, the man began. "This past school year Voldemort made his presence known again."

A part of her had expected this, known it would come one day. She grew stony and both men laid a hand each on one of hers in comfort. "We knew it would happen someday. How—what happened?"

Albus told her a tale beginning some years ago with rumors that flitted through Albany. She knew Tom had gone there at some point in his youth but had no idea why it was significant enough for his broken soul to vanish to. Apparently, he was less than human and had attached himself to a man in order to grow stronger. That man served him in exchange for a promise of power, letting the parasitic monster Tom had become push him to slaughter unicorns and hunt for something that could return him to semblance of life. The Philosopher's Stone.

Elena nearly laughed when she heard that. Yes, the stone could extend life indefinitely, but one still aged. The world still changed. And she didn't know if it had the ability to make a body for a monster mostly spirit.

Tom had almost succeeded but the boy from all those years ago had foiled him again. Harry Potter. The poor child had endured losing his parents and once more faced the dark wizard and lived.

"They felt pain when they touched Harry. And Harry… it seems he has a connection to Voldemort. I'm not sure exactly, but I'm slowly piecing things together," Albus said. "You saw how he was when he last came to Hogwarts."

Elena shivered, recalling the horribly melted, twisted features that had become Tom. "How long do you think we have?" she said at last.

Albus contemplated, twirling the end of his beard. "I'm not sure. Years at least, perhaps longer if he can't find anyone to assist him."

Donal squeezed her hand in his. "We've been careful, love. We've neither married nor had children. If he hears about the little love we've had along the way, he can't possibly care if he's barely alive. He has more pressing matters."

She thought on that and nodded at last. "Tom's always feared death. I think because of a childhood of starvation and war. Until he's certain of his power again, he won't care about anything outside of regaining his former strength." Elena brought Don's hand to her mouth and kissed it. "We have time."

"I will let you know when anything more arises."

"Thank you, Albus. How is the boy?" she asked. "It must have been frightening, to fight the wizard who killed his parents."

"One would think so," Albus agreed. "Harry is brave. A Gryffindor through and through. His main worry was keeping everyone safe. He had friends with him but went on alone by choice."

That was both impressive and worrisome. "Is he reckless by nature?"

Albus laughed. "I told you about his father James and his little band of friends, yes?" Elena remembered tales of the foursome and the shenanigans they'd get into. Somehow, they slipped into nooks and crannies no one knew and when Albus eventually told her about James' invisibility cloak she had thought it was the grandest prank. "I think he and his two friends, Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger may give them a run for their money in that department."

"Are you sure you're not ready to retire?"

"Never!" the wizard proclaimed to the amusement of all three of them.

Cato jumped at the sound then climbed into Albus' lap and began to clean himself. Albus smiled at the fluffy cat, taking pleasure in this little moment. Too soon little moments would be all they had.


	53. Chapter 53

Albus had informed her three nights ago that Tom was back; Harry Potter had been an unwilling participant in the ritual potion that had given him a new body. Once more she felt selfish at the worry for herself and Donal's family. The Potter boy had stood in that graveyard and seen one of his classmates fall. Had fought Tom, though she was sure the dark wizard had been showing off rather than dueling in truth. He had always enjoyed his little games.

Since that night she had insisted Donal keep his distance, reinforcing the fact that they were not married, that they had no children together. He had responded that Voldemort had only just returned, would surely not try to find her and see whether she'd kept her promise yet, if ever.

"I will not take that risk. Please." The pleading in her eyes had done it; he'd agreed on the condition they still spent dinner together every evening.

It was strange to go back to her bed alone after a decade of having someone else there. She'd become comfortable with Donal there. More than that, she'd learned to enjoy physicality with him. Decades of repressed sexuality and abuse had slowly withered away under the touch of hands that loved her, listened to her, responded to her. Whenever she'd needed a moment, he'd stopped; whenever she had wanted to end something altogether, he'd stopped. Donal was everything her stepfather and Tom had not been. He was everything she needed.

In the last few years she had hardly thought of her sexual experiences that didn't include Donal. She was whole, or as close as she could get. Having not even seen Tom since she was nigh forty years old, let alone had him touch her in that way for nearly twenty years more, it was strange even to contemplate that he might care she'd broken the rule he set out for her. But she still couldn't risk it. Afterall, he still held a grudge toward Albus Dumbledore, and that enmity had started before she had been a thought to him.

She started trying to research on her own whatever it was that kept Tom alive. She couldn't help Dumbledore, much as it hurt her. She'd made an oath and Albus had sternly refuted any attempt she'd made, however small, against it.

The year after he came back was purgatory for her. She paced relentlessly whenever Albus sent that he couldn't attend their usual Sunday tea, fretting over what news he might have when he eventually came. She knew about the Order but couldn't participate herself.

"Don't get involved; don't let children get involved," she'd begged Donal. "If they realize you're tied to me, it could destroy everything. It could paint a target on all of us."

One thing Elena had not counted on was the prophecy.

"Why didn't you tell me?" she demanded of Albus. "All of this over a fucking prophecy that could have referred to multiple people. A prophecy that means nothing, really. And you know that as well as I!"

"He found out about it, Elena. I didn't tell Tom anything myself, and I didn't know until it was too late."

She was shaking with rage, had thrown the teacup she held at the news. A bloody prophecy said by a witch who didn't even know she had the gift and Tom had jumped on it. He'd gone so far as to break into the Ministry of Magic to get his hands on it. Albus had dueled him and lived.

"'Neither can live while the other survives.'" Elena scoffed, rubbing at her forehead. "This is why I throw out my prophecies, Albus. This is exactly why. Tom Riddle was a fool to put stock in mine as a child and he's a fool now."

Albus had agreed with her, so he said, but he still seemed to think Harry Potter was the key. Based on his actions, Tom agreed.

"And Antonin has escaped as well. I can't imagine Azkaban was kind to him," she said. "Bellatrix Lestrange, Rodolphous Lestrange, Rabastan. Rad's children?"

"The men, yes. He was fond of Bellatrix; she's married to Rodolphous," Albus said.

"She's the one who tortured the Longbottoms, isn't she?" Elena shuddered. It was the sort of thing Rad would have approved of.

"Antonin cursed Miss Granger," Albus told her. "She nearly died and bears a terrible scar from the dark magic."

"What did he use?"

"Something he created himself." At the look in her eyes, he added, "She's well now. The scar will never fade, but she's hale and whole."

"Children fighting a battle, Albus. Is this truly what it's come down to?" She swished her wand to finally repair the teacup, frowning as a single crack remained. "Is there nothing I can do?"

"You know the answer to that." He had her hand in his.

Everything was crumbling down once more. It reminded her of the last time Tom had risen to power. Amelia Bones was killed, and she mourned the loss of the woman she'd once considered her mentor. The Dark Mark was appearing once more over people's homes and 'Voldemort' was scrawled on notes, but never said, handed silently over the whole of the U.K.

When Dumbledore came to her one day quite without expectation, she knew it was the beginning of the end. He took his tea and placed it on the table to stir in his sugar rather than steadying it on his lap. She frowned at him. Yes, Albus was more than a century old but he should still have a few decades to enjoy life. He didn't look it.

"Albus? Are you alright?"

He met her gaze with one that was too sorrowful for words and slowly pulled his other hand from his robes.

Her eyes widened at the black char of his skin. She hardly noticed the ring, so intent on his hand. "What happened?"

"The ring was Tom's. I'm afraid he cursed it."

"Why would you put on such a thing? It's hideous anyway." She took his hand in his, careful to avoid the garish jewelry. "How bad is it?"

"Severus is helping me hold the curse at bay," he said, watching her careful handling of his extremity. "It was foolish to put it on, but the curse was probably inevitable. I had to destroy it, there was no choice there."

"Why?" she probed. There was something more he was hiding, she could feel it. After a second's hesitation flickering over him, it clicked. "It's how he stayed alive, isn't it? Albus. This isn't my helping you, you can tell me."

He drew in a breath and sighed. "Do you know what a horcrux is?"

She thought through the texts she'd studied over the years. "I think I've heard of it. Herpo the Foul had one, didn't he?" At the nod, she continued. "Tom made a horcrux. That's how he's stayed alive? And that ring was it?"

"Not just the ring, I'm afraid," Albus groaned. "I believe he made six of them. The ring is only the second I've found."

"What was the first?"

"The diary, from Myrtle's death." Something in her twisted at the words. She'd touched that diary at one point and she rubbed her hands against her skirt as though to wipe away the very memory.

"Tom's soul possessed the Weasley girl?" Elena shuddered to imagine a young Tom Riddle returning to the world even as Voldemort still skulked in the shadows. "I can't sit here and do nothing, Albus. You're telling me there are four other horcruxes out there? And Tom himself is now living and commanding his army."

"That's what I've come to tell you." He laid his uninjured hand on hers. "You will be free of your oath soon enough."

She blinked in momentary confusion as she brought the words of her oath to mind. As understanding dawned, her eyes filled with tears. "Albus, no." Elena could feel the sobs rising from her chest but pushed them aside to comfort her friend. "How long?"

He smiled that sad, knowing smile of his. "I can't say exactly, but months, I think. Perhaps as long as a year."

"So soon?"

"It's necessary. I'm old, Elena. I have spent most of my life trying to fight against dark wizards who would be lords. Before I go, I intend to make sure everything is in place."

She shook her head. "You've given up on yourself?"

"Only because I have not given up on another." The tears spilled over at that and she threw herself at her friend, wrapping her arms around him.

"I'm so sorry, Albus. I wish I could have helped you." He stroked her back even as she tried comforting him.

"You have provided me great comfort over the years and that is a precious gift."

"How can you be so calm about this?" she asked. "How can you be so ready to die?"

Albus stroked a tear from her cheek even as his own fell. "Don't you remember, Elena? Death is merely the next great adventure."


	54. Chapter 54

Elena woke that morning knowing the world had changed; some primary element had shifted and the balance between light and dark was unsteady. Something woke her and it warmed her soul despite the knowledge she held. It reminded her of Albus, sharp and heartening across the sky. She thought it might be a phoenix song.

At some point the news officially reached her that Albus Dumbledore had been slain. She cried into Donal's chest and he wept into her hair. Then she rose and read the note the headmaster had given her in preparation for this day. It was short and asked one simple favor of her, a way she could make someone's life a little better.

As she didn't have an owl of her own, she sent it using Donal's, the letter bearing her name, her relation to Albus Dumbledore as a longtime friend, and the knowledge that this young man who had sacrificed so much was not the traitorous killer the world now believed him to be. If he liked, he could write her without judgement, for she knew the evil he had to endure and admired his strength in a way he could not know.

She washed after that, considering her next actions. What she was considering was foolish, but she was drawn to do it all the same. When Donal met her that evening for dinner, he could see it in her eyes.

"When will you go?" he said, holding her hand in his as he always did when they were together.

"Tomorrow." She sighed. "I know it's strange, to want to see him after all these years."

He shook his head. "Not at all, love. He impacted your life greatly and you want to face him before all of this is over."

"And it will be soon."

"Yes."

They washed the dishes together and adjourned to the little porch in front of her small house to while away the night. They would not sleep together the night before she faced the Dark Lord, but they could still stare into the darkness hand-in-hand.

"My lord, there is someone outside the gate," Lucius said, kneeling gracefully before Voldemort's throne-like seat in the Malfoy drawing room. At the arch of the skin where the Dark Lord's brow should be, he added, "She says she is here to see you."

How curious. Voldemort tilted his head, considering. "Did she tell you her name?"

"No, my lord, but she insisted you would see her."

"What does she look like? Is she a threat?"

Lucius' brows furrowed as he thought, bringing the stranger to mind. "She is older than I am, my lord. Perhaps around Dolohov's age. Small, frail in build. Dark blue eyes, short hair of blonde and white." He was struggling to think of something more precise, but Voldemort cut him off with one spidery hand. He was certain he knew who this visitor would be.

"Bring her in." The man nodded in a half-bow and turned on his heel to obey. "Antonin, Theodorus," he hissed to the surrounding Death Eaters. "Stand beside me, please. I believe we are having ourselves a little reunion." A part of him was surprised she had finally come to him even while another had expected her to return much sooner, begging for an end to her isolation. He'd have permitted it of course (after proper admonishment); she was useful enough and there was almost a certain fondness for her not unlike what he felt with his inner circle. He was disappointed she hadn't married; he would have thrilled to murder someone she loved, delighted in seeing her break down. Oh well. She was never that foolish, at least when it came to those she said she loved.

The woman who followed Lucius Malfoy confidently into the drawing room was miles away from the brittle little girl he'd met at Hogwarts decades ago. She was even different from the young woman he'd convinced to take a drink with him in the Hog's Head. She still kept her hair short and it was streaked with white now. The delicate lines on her face spoke of joy, laughter. That surprised him and he felt the curl of anger at his chest.

She dressed well enough these days, a long, loose skirt billowing around her small form, a nice blouse. She had light makeup on as though it were a daily ritual and had nothing to do with him. She met his eyes and they widened briefly when they landed on him, but if she felt any fear, she did not show it.

"Elena, pet. I was starting to think you would never come around," he said at last. His gaze roved over her appreciatively. "The years have been kind to you."

Her own eyes flicked down and up his form in a perfunctory manner. "I can't say the same for you."

Voldemort threw back his head and laughed, the high, slithering sound winding through the room. As his gaze settled back on her, he saw Elena shift uncomfortably. "Come now, sweetheart. Surely I look better than the last time you saw me?" He stepped down and glided toward her, Nott and Dolohov flanking him like the good minions they were. It occurred to Voldemort that it was a good thing Bellatrix was out at the moment; she would be furious with the woman before him. "You must admit there's a certain… presence to this appearance."

She was just as small as he remembered her and he wondered if she still cried as prettily. He raised a hand and she lifted her wand, pointing it at his chest. "Do not touch me, Tom."

His vision hazed with red even as his Death Eaters grew still around them; they knew better than to utter that name, than to even think it. Voldemort wordlessly, wandlessly caught her wand and her flinch was almost nonexistent. "You should know better than to antagonize me, Elena. Luckily for you, I am a forgiving lord." He leaned into her from his considerable height advantage, sniffing along her throat. She didn't move. "You haven't been disobeying me, have you?"

Elena stepped back from him. "I did not come to join you."

He caught her wrist, marveling once more at those fragile little bones that shifted in his grip. "That isn't what I asked, sweetheart. Try again."

Her nostrils flared and her jaw set as she stared up at him as though it was no matter that he had part of her under his control. "I have neither wed, nor born any children. I would not wish any being to fall under your wand and you know it."

Voldemort tutted, tugging the petite woman toward him. "Then what is it I smell on you, Elena? A lover, perhaps?"

She twisted her wrist, wrenching it toward her to no avail. "I live alone in a one room cottage. I sleep alone every night other than my cat. You did not say I couldn't have friends, couldn't exchange embraces."

He smiled down at her. "It seems our little pet has finally grown a backbone. Well done, sweetheart." He released her wrist, considering her. "If you are not here to join me, why have you come? Did you perhaps want to spend some alone time with me, relive a little of the past?"

"I wanted to ask if you still think magical children are precious," she said evenly. Elena folded her arms across her chest, no doubt to keep her limbs further from him.

"Of course," he lied smoothly, leaning back against the table there for meetings. "That's what all this is for, the future and the children who will live in it."

The little witch sneered, actually sneered! "A future you intend to rule over."

Voldemort spread his hands wide, smiling. "There must always be a leader, pet."

She shook her head and chewed on her lip in thought, an old habit he was amused to see still existed. "Leave Hogwarts alone, Tom."

"Stay the night, Elena."

"This isn't a negotiation," she declared. "Leave Hogwarts alone."

He tipped his head, studying her. "Or what?"

"Albus is dead." Elena drew a breath, her eyes surveying Dolohov and Nott behind him before returning to stare up at his face. "I've kept my oath. I am no longer bound by it."

This was entirely too much and he found himself chuckling again. "Are you threatening me?" Voldemort shook his head. "You are hardly intimidating, pet. Frail, wandless, into my warded territory. Who said I would allow you to leave, let alone fight against me?"

"You said you'd let me go."

"And I did," he retorted. "Not my fault you've returned to me."

"I will not serve you."

"Not willingly, no." Voldemort moved to cup her cheek, but she stepped back once more. "Radcliffe may be dead, but his sons and especially his daughter in law serve well in his place. Antonin has learned a few new tricks as well. I'm sure any one of them would love to indulge you."

She straightened up as though she hadn't slowly been retreating from him. "You're no longer able to indulge yourself?"

"Careful, pet," Voldemort purred. "You're playing with fiendfyre."

"Since the day I first gave into you," she admitted.

A part of him wanted to play with her, to give her the pain she clearly desired, forcing her to become once again the sweet little victim he'd enjoyed so much. However, he remembered what he had told her when they parted after her father's funeral. Elena had been obedient to his orders. Much as he wanted to keep her, he would give her the choice to accept his previous offer. "I would be happy to, pet. Spend the evening here and allow me to taste the limits of this new courage of yours and I'll consider your request that I leave Hogwarts be."

Her eyes weighed him shrewdly. This new, grown Elena was intriguing. He wondered how much more she'd be had she not lived the life of abuse she had. "You give me your word you will not interrupt the school year, you will allow me to leave in the morning, and I will stay… willingly."

His lips quirked at the last word. Elena knew how he valued willingness. That particularity had not changed even when he only newly had a body capable of carnal pleasures again. "I will swear to those with one caveat." At the question written across her face he said, "If Harry Potter takes the war to Hogwarts I will follow. Otherwise, I leave the school in the capable hands of its headmaster."

"You swear it?" she insisted.

"I swear upon this wand that I will release you in the morning and that I will not interrupt the Hogwarts school year unless Harry Potter goes there first." Voldemort held his wand aloft, grinning at her even as he said the words and the pulse of his oath rippled outward. He looked at her expectantly as he lowered his wand again. "Well?"

Elena tapped her lips once, that considering glint still in her eyes. She nodded to herself, inclined her head to him and said, "Then I am yours for the evening."

Notes: Elena's decision to seek Tom out probably seems illogical. However, she has experienced a lot of pain and abuse in her life; for some, this leads to a desire to overcome that trauma, to face it. That's what she's doing here. Does her bargain with him here actually change anything? Probably not. Voldemort always seemed to respect the school year well enough. But she made it all the same.

I had initially thought Chapter 54 or 55 would be the last. But I had to add a bit more. I asked my husband for his opinion on whether or not this was going to happen and he thought that would be more organic than just cutting the interaction there. So... yeah. Next chapter is gonna have some inappropriateness. I thought it would be interesting to see how Voldy has changed and how he's stayed the same.

The end is nigh.


	55. Chapter 55

She'd known she would have to give him something in exchange for her request, though a part of her had hoped he would do it on principle. Tom Riddle may be a power-hungry psychopath, but he truly did care for Hogwarts. It was special to him. Still, what was one night in all of this? Tomorrow she would go home and mend her broken pieces in Donal's arms.

Tom led her toward his makeshift throne, seating himself on it and smiling at her all the while. Elena knew what she was intended to do, but she had said she would be willing, not that she would anticipate his every desire. She took the moment before he gave the inevitable order to study him once more.

He was every bit as tall and commanding as he'd been when younger, but the darkness he'd used to rend apart his soul had taken a heavy toll. He was somewhere between a snake and a man with his flat nose and light scaling across his flesh. His eyes were now fully crimson, and the pupils were slit like a serpent. He wasn't the twisted, melted thing she'd seen last, but he was imposing, frightening to behold.

"Elena," he drawled. "Come, pet."

She shook her head free of the careful study and sat primly on his lap, her ankles crossed where they rested against his legs, upright. Yes, she was playing the role of his tonight, but Elena would make sure he saw how far she'd come. She chose this, she was under her own power.

He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her back against his chest, breathing in her scent and releasing it against her throat. "You smell like sunshine, pet. Sunshine and Dreamless Sleep. Why is that?"

"I brew potions and live in a forest where I often forage," she said impassively.

"Lovely." His tongue flicked against her skin and she felt her lip curl before she could help it. "You're being so very brave. You know I'm going to destroy your cool façade before the evening is over."

She shrugged. "Perhaps. I'll rebuild myself again."

He hummed, stroking her throat.

Elena was pleased at her composure. She had thought she would be terrified, but she was curiously alright. She knew her grandchildren, those who were younger, would be returning to Hogwarts after the summer. They would be safe. She would return home and play with the little ones in her garden, giving their parents a much-needed break. Donal would assist her in weeding among her herbs. He would hold her when she needed it. Life would be the same placidity she'd come to love.

Once she was settled on his lap, he went about his business as he was wont to do. Death Eaters trekked in and out of the room to give reports. She scowled at the snatchers, hoping the man she thought of as her son-in-law was safe. She would have to speak with him when she returned home. The Death Eaters, mostly men, all eyed her in confusion at some point, but said nothing. Everyone pretended this was ordinary for Lord Voldemort.

Between reports from a werewolf whose hungry grin reminded her of Lestrange and a young man who couldn't have been long out of Hogwarts something slipped over her shoulder. She thought it was Tom's hand at first before feeling the cool smoothness of snakeskin. Sliding across her, surrounding her was the largest snake she'd ever seen.

"Nagini," Tom warned. "Play nice. Elena is here temporarily." He stroked the large creature's head. It rose to sniff along her jaw before laying its head on Tom's shoulder and hissing softly. They engaged in a short discussion, Elena stiff despite Tom's supposed protection. He smiled and eyed Elena as he spoke.

"Something funny, Tom?"

Nagini hissed and sputtered at her face.

"I thought you were going to be willing this evening, pet," he said evenly, soothing the snake with his long fingers gliding over its back. "That is not the proper way to address me."

Her eyes narrowed and she rolled her jaw. "Pardon me, my lord."

"Much better. See, Nagini. She is nothing to concern yourself over." The serpent butted its head against her chin, her neck before sliding over her lap. "She says you are far too covered considering your purpose here. Do you mind, pet?" Tom— Voldemort— brandished his wand as his eyes looked over her. She gave one permissive nod and he transfigured her into something more familiar. The skirt became shorter, black, formfitting, the hem above her knees as she sat. The blouse became black as well, sleeves shortened so he could stroke the parchment fair skin of her arms. It was not unlike the clothing she would wear to work once upon a time; even her shoes had become black heels.

"No hose?" she quipped.

He was studying her face for a reaction and spread his lips in that mocking smile of his as one hand slowly popped open buttons to reveal her chest and a hint of her brassiere. "Why bother? Apparently, it is en vogue now for women to forgo them." His gaze dropped to the revealed flesh of her chest and satisfaction rolled off him in waves. "You still bear my marks." His voice was intimate as long fingers stroked the scar between her breasts.

"They become more trouble to get rid of than they are worth after a while," she admit. "No one sees them these days other than myself and I would remember them even were they gone."

Nagini laid across them both contentedly. The serpent seemed not to mind her presence now and had even rubbed across the visible scars as though to share pleasure in them. Tom was stroking them both absently, two pets and nothing more.

Dolohov stayed with Tom for the day, while Nott appeared to have business elsewhere and disappeared for a while. The Lestrange brothers appeared and she could read the darkness in their eyes as they watched their lord's spidery fingers wander over her.

"My lord, Severus has returned to report on the school," the older of the two said upon rising from his knee.

"Very well. Escort him in." Elena could feel the reverberations through her, his chin resting on the top of her head. Elena straightened up in his lap, watching as the newcomer strode into the room, sweeping to one knee almost elegantly. He was younger than she'd thought, a soft forty at most despite the weariness in his eyes. He'd lived a hard life for one who should have another century ahead of him. "Severus, my dearest friend. Rise, please."

"My lord," the man intoned as he did as bidden. His black eyes touched on her only just before returning to the monster holding her. "I have filled the empty positions at Hogwarts; both of the Carrows have volunteered to teach. Letters with the new regulations will go out along with the yearly materials next month."

"Excellent, dear boy." The warmth in the creature's voice was almost genuine and Elena wondered if Severus Snape was among his inner circle. He would have to be, considering what she knew about him. "You'll stay for dinner."

"Of course, my lord." When the younger man's focus again was drawn to her, the hand around her waist moved to her chin.

"Curious, Severus?" She knew that tone, though she'd not heard it in too long. In her periphery, Antonin stiffened. "This is Elena Mullens, a pet of sorts from my wayward youth. She has agreed to reprise that role for the evening."

Severus Snape, murderer of Albus Dumbledore, considered her. "Bellatrix will not be happy."

"I've ordered Rodolphous to find a distraction for Bella, something that will take her into the small hours of the morning." He had tangled his hand into her hair by now, tugging at her roots rhythmically in a way that bordered on pleasant and painful. "I've even given permission for multiple Death Eaters to join in their festivities, as well as any prisoners currently in the dungeons."

"That is gracious of you, my lord."

"Isn't it?" Tom pulled her head back, arching the long line of her throat and his teeth grazed her skin. "I plan to have my own fun for the evening; far be it from me to deny others the same opportunity."

"I think you're making Severus uncomfortable," Elena coolly informed despite the awkward angle of her neck. "My lord."

"Yes, Severus is soft where women are concerned; he much prefers doling out clean deaths and insulting children." Tom returned his attention to the man. "You may go, Severus. I'll see you at dinner."

"My lord, Madam Mullens." The sound of his boots trailed out of the room.

They were alone now, unless one counted Dolohov and the serpent. Tom still had her head tipped back to him and he stared down at her with those red eyes. Nagini slithered down to lay her head over Elena's lap, tail winding over her and Tom's legs as though to hold her in place. The hand that wasn't in her hair trailed finger pads over her lips, down her throat, to slide into her blouse and dance over her breast. "Are you still my little masochist under this brave face, doll?" She stared evenly back at him and he smiled. "A new game to play after all this time." He raked his nails gently over flesh, then twisted at her nipple until it hardened, and she gasped unwillingly. He chuckled and pulled her higher toward him, mouth ghosting over hers. "I can smell you, pet. Nagini can as well. Can you, Antonin?"

The man spluttered, having not expected acknowledgement. "My lord?"

"Come closer. You still find our little doll appealing, do you not?"

She could sense his trepidation as he neared the throne-like seat and Elena could see his carefully blank face. He was still the dark, brooding man she'd known before but there was a levity he'd gained in age, and an edge that belied the peace of his features. "I do still desire her," he agreed, taking in her contorted position.

"What do you think, sweetheart? Shall I give you to Antonin when I finish with you for the night? Let him take his pleasure before I release you in the morning?"

"That's your prerogative." Her pulse had jumped at the suggestion, but she continued her even breaths to show him she would not be thrown off.

"I'll think on it." Tom ghosted a kiss over her lips and released her hair so she could stretch her neck.

Notes:

Next chapter may contain triggering material.


	56. Chapter 56

Dinner that evening was a subdued affair for the Death Eaters. Lucius and Draco were in attendance, Narcissa sending her regards through them; she was unwell. She often preferred to forgo meals with the Dark Lord, but he allowed it as long as she otherwise performed her duties. Rookwood had sauntered in, drawn no doubt by his pet's presence. Surprisingly, Theodorus and his son had joined as well. While the boy was not among his inner circle, nor even among his troops (he was not yet of age and his father was protective over the late-in-life heir), he was a good friend of young Draco. Severus was the last to join them.

"Eight, so close to the perfect magical seven," Voldemort said, taking his place at the head of the table. "I could not dismiss any of you, though. This is quite the balanced table."

"Eight, my lord?" Dolohov asked as his eyes lingered on Elena.

He'd pulled the woman onto his lap once more, taking full advantage of her company. "One does not count pets, Antonin. Not even those one might feed scraps at the table." The corner of his mouth twitched. "Have we not had this discussion before?"

Antonin half-hid his answering smile.

"Lucius, you disapprove?"

"Your pardon, my lord," the stiff man intoned. "I am unused to seeing women in such a position."

"Would it help if I told she is a halfblood?" he offered. "And that somewhere in her twisted little soul, she enjoys it. She agreed to play tonight, didn't you, pet?"

Her only tell was the flex of her jaw. "I did, my lord."

Lucius practically squirmed in his seat and poor Draco kept flitting between his father and Voldemort and his godfather, trying to discern the appropriate expression. Voldemort chuckled and his reluctant host flinched. "Calm down, Lucius. I'm hardly going to fuck her over the table at dinner." As the meal appeared before him, he took turns taking bites for himself and feeding Elena. It was amusing to see her trying to retain her dignity as she took dainty nibbles from his fork. He had insisted on fruit for dessert so he could have she take the food from his fingers.

"Such an obedient thing," he murmured as she took a slice of melon between her teeth. "You see, Draco, Theodore, you can have women eating out of your hands if you are powerful enough. And no one would dare gainsay you." He practically purred as he smiled at Lucius and then returned his attention to the two youths. "You could even have that little mudblood leashed. Granger, is it? I know you have a certain interest in her, Draco." At the boy's blush, he added, "No judgement here, my boy. If you want a mudblood pet, why ever not? The juice, sweetheart." Her cheeks flushed as she licked the rivulets from his hand.

As dinner disappeared, the dishes along with it, he allowed Lucius to take his leave. It saddened him to see how weak Abraxas' son was, and Lucius was by far stronger than young Draco. He would have to do something to shore up the Malfoy line. Perhaps gifting the Granger mudblood to Draco would foster more cruelty in the boy.

Theodore and Draco removed themselves together from the table, leaving only four of his Death Eaters in his presence. Nott, Dolohov, Rookwood, and surprisingly, Severus. Voldemort waved and the table pushed itself against a wall, leaving them a nice little seating area around which to drink and talk.

"Your son seems bright, Theodorus," Elena said at last. He'd commanded her to keep quiet during the meal and not interrupt the conversation of her betters.

"Thank you, Elena. He's a good young man, I think." Nott swirled the wine in his glass, smiling at his old friend even as he noted the possessive way his lord's hands roved over her.

Voldemort grinned and held his own wine for his pet to sip. "If you're uncomfortable, you may leave, Theodorus."

"My lord, I have not seen Elena in some time. I would prefer to stay, if you will allow it."

"On your own head be it then," he responded with a shrug and drained his wine. Dolohov served him more, his dark eyes never leaving the woman on his lord's lap. "And you, Augustus?"

"I'm quite fine with the show, my lord," man said.

"Severus?" he asked. "I already know Antonin would like nothing more than to watch me break and reshape my little doll here, unless he was permitted to join in himself. I didn't think you shared our appetite for cruelty."

"I'm curious, my lord," Severus said coolly. "About Madam Mullens herself. I have heard that name before."

Voldemort nodded, traipsing his nails along her various scars. "She considered Dumbledore her friend; perhaps the old codger mentioned her." The headmaster nodded in response, still watching her, and the Dark Lord rolled his eyes. "You and Nott can both be disgusted by my behavior toward her then," and he sank his teeth into the meat of her throat just under her jaw.

She gasped and her back arced away from him before one steely arm pulled her flush to him. He worried his teeth into her until he could taste that wonderfully familiar copper against his tongue, suctioning his lips to her then and sucking. He opened his red eyes and took in his Death Eaters, Rookwood and Dolohov both watching with various amounts of amusement and arousal, Severus trying not to avert his gaze from what he found distasteful, and Nott staring at his drink.

Voldemort pulled away, licking the blood from his lips. He replaced his mouth with a hand, thumb smoothing over the ragged skin and smearing her blood over her flesh. "Enjoying yourself, pet?"

Her face had already settled back into complacency. "As much as I can, my lord." He smirked, well aware she could feel how much he enjoyed having her there. He slowly undid the rest of the buttons of her blouse, stroking his hands to part of the material and dance along the length of her stomach. "If you're not going to enjoy yourselves, go elsewhere," he commanded. When no one moved, Voldemort raised his eyes from his toy. "Theodorus, Severus. Leave."

Theodorus hesitated but stood. "As you command, my lord. Good evening. Elena," he said with a nod. Severus only murmured, "My lord," and followed at Nott's heels.

"Shall I see just how much our pet is appreciating my indulgence?" he asked the two remaining men. Antonin nodded and Rookwood smirked. He leaned back, the arm pressing her to his chest lengthening her body and making it easier for Voldemort to tug her skirt up. He pulled thighs to rest outside of his own and his long, spindly fingers slid beneath her knickers and dipped into her core. He hissed and withdrew them to display the slickness on his fingers. "My, you have learned to bluff well, haven't you, pet?" Voldemort laid the fingers across her lips, brushing her wetness across them. "Lick." Her tongue darted obediently, not a hint of shame or embarrassment. "What would it take, I wonder, to get a blush out of you?" He studied her still features. "You haven't much experience with men. Perhaps if I fucked you here before Antonin and Augustus and then allowed them a turn? Hmm?"

Her eyes widened, jaw clenching even as red flushed her cheeks. He smiled slowly.

"Mmm. There it is." He sucked some errant blood from his thumb and gazed at his followers. "Her cunt is as tight as ever. Would you like to see how she comes when I hurt her? I have no doubt it's as lovely a sight now as it was before."

Her docile composure snapped. "Must you be so crude?"

Voldemort graced her with a kiss to the corner of that self-righteous little mouth. "We're among friends here, no point in false modesty." His fingers dropped back between her thighs as his other hand gripped her hair once more. Antonin's lips parted at his pet's pained whimper and darkness filled the eyes of his other Death Eater. Seeing their rapt attention, he struck, this time at the other side of her neck. As she bucked against him, desperate to remove herself, the hand tangled in her hair moved to the front of her throat and he delighted in the rapid pulse beneath it. He tightened the grip on her as he plunged his fingers inside of her and curled them deftly. She spasmed as his teeth gnashed, each bite further tightening her cunt around his fingers until he could hardly move them.

When he pulled his mouth away once more, he drank in the desperation on Antonin's face. Elena panted weakly against him. He kissed her ear and whispered, "I'm going to fuck you right here, pet. I'm going to destroy you while they watch, and they'll get off to your screams for mercy." Another flutter at her core and he laughed, lifting her slight form off his lap and laying her onto the long side table one of the men had conjured for their drinks. A flick of his wand and she was naked, baring so much unmarked flesh for him to cut, bruise, welt.

Voldemort watched her sit up, one hand helping her push upright while the other curled over her breasts. "Still willing, sweetheart?"

She blinked up at him, considering. "Yes, my lord," she said after a moment.

The Dark Lord smiled.


	57. Chapter 57

Her throat was hoarse by the morning, voice nearly gone from screaming and other usages. Her body ached. Unlike the days when he'd been Tom Riddle, Lord Voldemort was only too happy to force potions down her throat to keep her conscious. She didn't think she'd made so many Blood-Replenishing potions in her life as she'd swallowed over the course of the night. He'd healed her wounds to only marks before starting anew, had kept her hydrated so her tears could keep flowing.

He'd made it a point to bring her to orgasm at least once with every new torment. By the second hour under his care, she'd started sobbing, begging for mercy. He'd paused long enough to let her sip away her hiccoughs, then asked, "Are you still willing, sweetheart?" And she'd looked up at him with all the quiet hate in her being and said, "Yes, my lord."

That had been the rhythm of her night.

Rookwood had left at some point, but Antonin stayed to drink in her cries the whole night long, fisting his cock to the sounds of her begging. She vaguely remembered he'd used her blood to lubricate himself once. It was the most intimate he'd been allowed to get and she could still remember the reverence in his eyes as he was allowed to stroke her wounds. Voldemort enjoyed tormenting his followers still, holding up what he had that they wanted.

The dark wizard had lost none of his stamina as he'd aged; or perhaps it was the new body that afforded him strength. Either way, he used her until the blushing sun trekked over the horizon. He carried her down to the gates himself, capturing her in one last possessive kiss before setting her on her unsteady feet. "My offer still stands, pet," he said, fingers plucking at her bare body beneath the cloak he'd conjured for her. It amused him to refuse her clothing. "Come back to me and you will have a place among my people; otherwise…"

"No husband, no children," whispered into his chest. "I'm aware." Her tired blue eyes lifted, one small hand laying across his chest.

His crimson eyes bored into hers and he held one forearm, the other hand curling over the curve of her hip to keep her against him. "Tell me, sweetheart. How do you feel about me now?"

The quirk of her lips was as acrid as the chuckle on her tongue. "I hate you, Tom."

The Dark Lord tilted her head to lay one last kiss on her lips, licking the seam of her mouth greedily. "Mm. I know. Goodbye, pet."

"Goodbye."

"Antonin," the Dark Lord said as he released her. "Take her wand, escort her beyond the wards."

Dolohov bowed and accepted the slim stick, then offered his arm to Elena. She took it and allowed him to walk her through the gates. After a moment of silence, he spoke. "I never married, you know." She shrugged. "Stay with me."

She studied his face, shaking her head. "And belong to Tom Riddle for the rest of my life? No."

He halted them, cupping her cheek. "You would belong to me." Antonin lowered him lips to hers and planted the smallest kiss there, briefly touching the soft skin with his tongue before pulling back. "I saw how you reacted to the pain, Elena. I could give you that. Only, outside of the bedroom, you would be my wife to equal any other."

"We both know you obey his every whim, Antonin." Elena trailed her fingers over his cheek, and he leaned into the soft touch. "I cannot control the responses of my body, but I find no joy in being a pet. Not for your Dark Lord and not for you. And we both know that's what he would have of me if I stayed, whether I wed you or not."

His brows furrowed, deep lines carved on his face. "He would not do such things to one of his follower's wives."

She barked out a laughed and it was a bitter sound. "Perhaps not in public, but do you truly think he could resist being the one to push me to my breaking point? And you would not stop it. Perhaps a part of you would even enjoy it." The hand on his face moved to the one he had on her and she clutched it, staring earnestly up at him. "No. I have made myself a life and I will not give it up for something as shallow as your love."

Elena dropped his hand and stepped back.

"Elena."

"Goodbye, Antonin."

She heard his voice choke on her name as she apparated away.

Donal was asleep in his usual chair when she stepped into view of her little home. She stroked his head fondly and walked into her home to bathe and dress and make them breakfast. The whistle of the kettle stirred him. He jumped from his seat, eyes wide with panic until they settled on her. "Elena." The word held in it all his love for her and reached out to her, then thought better of it. Before he could drop his hand, she pulled him into her.

"I'm here, love," she whispered. "I'm here and I'm whole."

The large man started sobbing, curving around her until she moved them toward the sitting area. Instead of taking a chair himself, he laid his head against her stomach and knelt beside her legs. "I was so scared, Elle. I thought— I thought the worst would happen and I would never see you again."

"Shh." She cradled his head, kissing the salt and pepper curls. "I would never leave you."

Donal sobbed again, a new rush of tears staining her dress. When he finally looked up at her with red-rimmed eyes, he asked, "What happened? You look so tired."

"Tom—that is his name," she reminded. "He wanted something from me, and I allowed him the chance to get it. He couldn't though."

"What," Donal began, but he had to swallow. "What did he want?"

She smiled, cupping his face in her hands. "He wanted my heart, to take it and shatter it and make it into something as twisted as his own." She could see that the horror and confusion in his eyes and Elena laughed. "What he didn't understand is that my heart was not there for him to break. It's with you. It's always with you, my love."

His arms engulfed her, and she allowed herself to be held until they were both out of tears.

Later, she let him see the new scars that were already forming upon her body. While a part of her worried Tom Riddle would know another was touching her, Elena wanted Donal to see and know her. They held off on anything beyond embraces and gentle touches.

"I think it will be over soon," she told him as the sun began to set and they sat side-by-side on her porch.


	58. Chapter 58

The wards around Hogwarts were broken and she easily apparated to the familiar courtyard. Word had just reached her of the battle, and she could see it was ending. A few Death Eaters still fought, but most had fled or given up.

She wound her way through the debris, past bodies and blood and small fires, until she reached what she had come to see.

There, lying outside the ruins of the castle he'd once called home, was Tom Riddle. Lord Voldemort. His body had crumbled there from his rebounded killing curse and there was nothing but his distorted appearance to say he was anything other than an ordinary man who had died by ordinary means. She stared down at him until Aurors came to collect the body.

"Can I help you?" came a cultured voice as she watched two men cart the body of her longtime tormentor away. The accent was familiar, one that warmed her heart.

Elena spun about, smiling as she met the eyes of a woman around her age, perhaps a touch older. "Minerva McGonagall. It's a pleasure to meet you at last; Albus talked about you a great deal. He was proud of you."

The woman frowned, an expression fitting to her sternly beautiful face. "I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage."

"Elena Mullens," she said, extending a hand. "I came as soon as I heard of the battle. Alas, too late to help."

"Elena Mullens?" Minerva repeated. "My dear girl." Instead of a handshake, Elena found herself embraced by the foreboding woman. "You are welcome at Hogwarts any time. Albus told me much about you; I hope you will forgive the more personal details he shared, but he was heartbroken by what happened to you. Please, consider me a friend."

"I would count it an honor, thank you." She studied the other woman as they parted. "He trusted you, so I will trust you as well. Is Severus—"

"Dead, I'm afraid." Sorrow and regret flickered across Minerva's face. "And I just learned of his true loyalties."

Elena nodded. "He endured much."

"Though I loved Albus dearly, I'm afraid he often asked too much of those too young to have truly lived."

"Perhaps now that won't happen, and those who are left can rebuild." She surveyed the battlefield as the bodies were slowly carted away and the fires extinguished.

"Do you think that's possible? To go through so much and still be able to live in peace?" Doubt weighed heavily in that Scottish brogue.

Elena smiled over her shoulder, joy shining through the tears in her eyes. "I know it.

When she returned home, Donal was there. He was there as long as she'd allow it. Sometimes when she bade him good evening, he sat on her porch and passed the night there rather than leave her.

He stood, wringing his hands as she stepped lightly across the little path toward her cottage. There was a question on his face.

"It's over," she breathed as she laid her head against his chest.

Relief flooded him and he lifted her off the ground, spinning her in a circle with the enthusiasm of a much younger man.

"Put me down, you oaf!" she laughed, hitting his chest gently. When he had, she tipped her head and chewed her lip.

"What?" he asked, knowing that habit much too well.

"I think there is something…" He opened his mouth to ask again, but she laid a finger against his lips to silence him. "I know most of our lives have already passed. We're growing older. Your great-grandchildren will be having their own children before we know it. But I was wondering if, perhaps, you'd marry me?"

Donal threw back his head and laughed, tears spilling over his cheeks. "Elena, there is nothing more I would like in all the world than to marry you and spend the rest of my life by your side."

"Good. I already asked Minerva to do the honors herself."

"Minerva?" he said.

"Minerva McGonagall, the headmistress of Hogwarts," she responded matter-of-factly. She smiled shyly at the man who'd agreed to marry her. "She'll be coming tomorrow evening to perform the ceremony. I hope you don't mind that I took it upon myself to plan before knowing your answer."

"As far as I'm concerned, you can plan the rest of our lives to your heart's content, love. All that matters is that I'm with you."

She took his hand in hers and kissed his knuckles. "And I, you."

And though Elena was seventy-two when she wed him, and he was another decade older, they spent the next seventy-three years together and often told others, when asked how they managed, that they poured a lifetime of love into each day.

Notes:

I just want to thank you all again for reading along with me. And apologize for the previous weird formatting.

I wasn't sure how this would be received or whether anyone would care to read my take on the possible past of Tom Riddle.

I hope you all enjoyed the end. I researched quite a bit for this fic, to include wizarding lifespans. Apparently 150 isn't unusual, with up to 200 sometimes being possible for a very well-maintained individual (Dumbledore was 115 when he died and still had decades left had he not been cursed). Elena spent just over half her life with Donal. It may seem so little to wizards, but to use mere muggles, it's magic.

I hadn't intended her to ever marry. She was going to happily live alone and independent. However, when a (relatively) young widower and his three children appeared, he wormed his way in. He is, contrary to the worries of some, exactly the gentle, loving, patient soul he seems. I think he appeared because there is good in the world, and there are people who only want to give us love. And that's what Harry Potter is all about: love.

So in spite of everything, Elena's life was happy. It wasn't a story of abuse suffered; it was a story of coaxing love out of the shadows and basking in it instead of in darkness.

With that, I'm going on vacation (my second ever with my husband!) and my updates on To the Victors may slow down. I'm bringing my computer and I think my muse has just recovered from sprinting through this story, so it may not as well. We'll see.

Thanks again, lovely people.


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